


The Will of the Restless

by Helihi



Series: Ballad of the Lost Souls [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Awful Puns, F/F, F/M, Gender Identity, Genocidal Ideals, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Multi, Racism, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans!Neptune Vasilias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helihi/pseuds/Helihi
Summary: As the grimm fade from Vale, Ruby Rose has emerged from the ashes as a hero in a time of war. Weiss Schnee comes out of hiding and proudly declares loyalty to a kingdom she wasn’t born into. Blake Belladonna lost everything she held dear and now she’s unsure of who she is or what she stands for, forever thinking about the fate of Yang Xiao Long.Who will stop Salem and the White Fang from bringing back the demons of the Vytal Massacre?SEQUEL TO WINGS OF FATE
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Ilia Amitola/Emerald Sustrai, Jaune Arc/Lie Ren/Pyrrha Nikos/Nora Valkyrie, Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren/Nora Valkyrie, Octavia Ember/Sun Wukong, Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee, Saphron Cotta-Arc/Terra Cotta-Arc
Series: Ballad of the Lost Souls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1241657
Comments: 17
Kudos: 30





	1. Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> ( New POV character unlocked.)  
> Losing something you identify yourself with for so long can leave you violently lost, but it is at times of crisis that one discovers who they truly are and what they want.

The taste of blood, sweat, and tears cloud my thoughts to the point of madness. Death overtakes my palate as the sound of my own heartbeat silences the ringing in my ears with utmost authority.

I don’t know where I’m going.

A warm liquid slowly drips off my arms and falls to the cold, wet cement of Vale’s forgotten streets. My hands are covered in blood, and I frantically wish to wash it away _and away and away and away and away and away and—_ I want to scrub it off. I want to — _so_ badly—, even if it means risking peeling off my own skin under it. However, all I can do is pray to the Brothers her blood remains warm, even as it soaks through my vest and shirt.

_Please, don’t die._

The broken heel barely attached to my boot clashes against pools of liquid. It accompanies the sound of my uneven breathing, a terrifying cacophony that seems to have no end. I’m not sure if I’m stepping on blood or leachate. I bet it’s blood. _Brothers_ , there’s so much blood. I’m too scared to look down, to face reality. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s the weight in my arms that’s making this so hard, or the weight of the realization that all of this is my fault.

_Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die._

It’s disturbing: how the smell of blood mixed with gunpowder and sweat overpowers my senses. I can taste the iron in my lips.

 _Pleasedontdie._ I choke on sobs, tears clouding my vision as I run—

My heel finally breaks off.

There’s a moment of silence— of nothingness— as I tumble into the dark. Somehow, the deserted street turns into an abyss for a split of a second and devours me whole. Then, I hit the ground, and I feel her slide from my grasp.

Rough gravel scrapes my arms and face as I hit the pavement. The world turns around me and my body aches all over. I cough, almost choking on my own saliva as I try to even my breathing. There are no more tears left for me to cry, and yet I’m compelled to clean off the wet trails on my cheeks with the back of my hands, only for that nauseating smell of iron and rotten trash to take over my senses again.

I open my eyes and spit blood, gravel, and saliva. I desperately look around me. My eyes instantly focus on the direction I came from, painfully aware that the sight of her motionless body will be enough to break me, and yet… I’m still hoping to find—

Yang stands before me, head hanging low.

I feel my heart in my throat, the world vanishing around me as bright red spills like a waterfall from her right side where her arm used to be. It shakes my entire plane of existence. My jaw hangs open and my eyes remain open wide like a pair of white plates, while the sight terrorizes me to the core.

A raven caws: death incarnate.

“Why do you even bother?”

Her voice sounds flat, dry, dead; like a husk of what she used to be. She looks at me, a crimson eye peeking through disheveled blonde locks. Her untamable fiery hair lies forever extinguished, even if I can see the flame in the way she glares at me.

“I trusted you.”

The world jumps around me. My body abruptly comes down against wood, and I turn to my right to find the offending rock on the road growing distant until it’s lost in the horizon.

Black, blue, and orange blind me for a moment, and I tear my eyes away from the sky. I blink repeatedly as my surroundings violently become clear: wooden crates and machinery pieces tightly attached to the floor of the cargo bed. Everything corners me against the wooden wall of a lorry. With each blunt movement of the vehicle, the truck cover presses against my back. The wood groans underneath my fingers, and I rapidly turn to my right to find my hand desperately clutching the tailgate of the old lorry. I let go and swallow hard.

_I snuck into the cargo of an old man’s truck to get into Vacuo safely._

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My heart keeps hammering inside my chest as I drive my mind away from the nightmare and back into my recent memories. The pink and purple colors of the sky earlier this morning come first, then the shapes of the buildings I hid between as I waited for a ride.

Walking all the way from Vale to Vacuo is a death sentence. The way the sun burns through everything in its way until it reaches your skin and bones has been one of Vacuo's strongest defenses since the beginning of time. Yet, if you don’t want to be followed, if you want to disappear, Vacuo is always the answer.

_It’s also a good place to go to die._

The smell of salt and dead fish comes afterwards. A part of me misses the soft rocking of the fishing boat I managed to sneak into days before. It seemed better than walking through the desert, and when that trip came to an end… I open my eyes again, and find myself surrounded by cargo once more.

I can’t remember the last time I spoke with another person. Merchants have been to my left and right, and yet I have not exchanged a single word with them as I have made my way through the crowd and stolen something to eat. I’ve listened closely to many conversations, planning my journey by using others as my method of transportation and a way to make sure there was always a roof over my head. Even while traveling through the endless forests of Sanus, I couldn’t allow myself to be alone among the deep foliage.

I’ve always hated crowds. Ever since I was young, I had the habit of driving others away in favor of solitude, even if my job as a spy forced me to do the opposite. Interactions were crucial and a necessary evil to get to my objective. Now, I force myself to get lost in a sea of people, too afraid of what I would do if I found myself alone with my own thoughts.

I let go of the breath I’ve been holding.

I look to my right and watch as the sand dances under the truck. The Wasting Winds always change the formation of the desert, each area becoming unrecognizable in a matter of minutes. The tire tracks disappear almost immediately as the truck moves forward. I see the faces of people I’ve never met and never will, while they watch me with squinting eyes before they resume their gossip. Most of them might think I’m a mercenary hired by the driver to protect the goods from robbers or bandits; others might know I’m hitching a ride without the knowledge of the one at the wheel. Nevertheless, they are all hidden behind beige and grey robes, highly aware of what’s around them. Countless belts, weapons on display, and bare shoulders remind me I’m home.

I wonder why anyone would call Vacuo a kingdom when there are no walls or organized forces protecting our borders. The style of fashion is whatever you can drape over yourself to protect you from the sun, while also being as lightweight as possible for a fight. There are two types of people that live here: those who are selfish, and those who are dedicated to their community, often living in tribes. These two opposing types of Vacuans are highly polarized, especially when it comes to their understanding of survival.

The buildings are made of thick adobe walls and brown tile roofs, while others are simple huts built from sandstone, canvas and good intentions. The craftsmanship has the imprint of its people all over it: on the mixture, on the round corners and fingerprints left to dry, no matter how permanent or temporary housing is. Red wooden frames along doors and windows mark the richest families of the neighborhood. Pipes come off the sides, the wall below it significantly darker and dirtier.

When I finally find the markings on the top corners of some walls, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The poor handwriting of the makeshift government trying to guide its citizens through the city as it grows is all anyone needs to know about Vacuo. Well, that and how everything around you can change overnight. Nobody is surprised by a Sudden Demise —a sinkhole that spontaneously forms, which sometimes swallow whole settlements with simply a plume of dust.

I close my eyes. The sound of smiths working out in the open, the endless gossiping, and the sound of old trucks and wooden carts makes me forget for a moment why I’m here… or why I even left in the first place. 

Atlas was never an option. Even if I can use a bow to hide my heritage, I refuse to stand by while I watch other faunus suffer. Just thinking of Atlesian aristocrats enjoying a circus performed by faunus slaves, or imagining the sound of tools within the Schnee mines are enough to make me want to vomit.

Mistral almost sounds like the punchline to a bad joke. I can’t really think of them without thinking of Atlas. The two kingdoms meld together even if they are very different from one another.

Vale… _There’s no place for me in Vale._

There was only one destination from the start: Vacuo, but… _can I really call it home?_

When I open my eyes again, I’m almost ready to let go, to stay in this truck and let me wherever it’s going—I see a familiar structure in the distance that captures me immediately: an unfinished watch tower that never looked quite right. Now, years later, the wood has gone rotten, and the ropes hang by threads. I can almost feel the hollowness of the boards underneath my fingers as I observe the forgotten remnants of the construction workers who had been there years ago.

I hop off the lorry.

The moment my feet hit the ground, I wince. The way the soles of my broken boots feel against my skin makes me regret my decision. I did tear the remaining one off to make things easier for myself; running with one broken boot felt uneven and bothersome. I bite my tongue as I stare down at my shoes. Anyone can still see the dried blood on them, despite my efforts to scrub it off desperately. Even after breaking some of my nails, I couldn’t get anything off.

My clothes underneath my robes are stiff, covered with dried sweat. My cropped shirt is no longer white, and the pink stains from smeared blood I haven’t been able to wash remind me I have nowhere to go. When the urge to tear off my clothes returns, I look towards the watchtower. I can envision the imperfect view of the old dust mines it gives you, and just like that I know dropping off the truck was another one in a long line of mistakes. I turn away from the structure, miles away from me and start walking in the opposite direction. 

I can feel curious eyes on me. That would usually make me wary, but thanks to my hood and cape, stranger’s eyes only linger for a moment. It’s comforting that I’m viewed as just another mercenary moping around the empty streets of Vacuo. But if I’m being honest, _am I not an aimless mercenary?_ I didn’t have any lien on me when I left Vale. I’m walking around in dirty clothes and broken boots because all my belongings are still in that awful inn the huntsmen were asked to stay at while helping rebuild Vale. I can almost see my lonely bag on that old desk, waiting for me in the room I shared with…

_Please don’t die._

The words come back to my mind before I can stop them. The smell of metal and gunpowder invades my head and my arms feel wet again. I try to rub the blood off me where there is none. I clench my teeth and force my eyes shut for a moment.

_“Oh, what a shame,” she says, and I see her pull on her scarf meticulously. She guides my eyes to where she wants them to be, perfectly aware of what she’s doing to me. “I just think it would be very rude of me to sleep in the same tent as you with these dirty rags after you took the time to clean your clothes.”_

When I open my eyes again, I stare at the sand under my feet as I force myself to keep walking. The intoxicating scent of Yang’s lavender shampoo swims through my thoughts as I tear myself from the memory of her smile. My nightmare returns to haunt me with the image of her figure staring at me while she bleeds out. My cheek burns as the shape of my scar grows insolent on my face.

_It’s not fair._

It’s not fucking fair.

_Everything was my fault._

_I tracked the White Fang. I searched for them and purposely guided them to me while my team was at the hospital trying to cope with the chaos and death I created. I purposefully went looking after them to keep my lies intact. All that time I forced myself to think that I was keeping Ruby, Weiss and Yang safe when I was just protecting myself._

Yang— _Yang got hurt because of me._ I _led_ _her to him._ I _knew he would be there. I knew she would follow me—_ I got her hurt. I _got her hurt because I couldn’t bear the thought of her finding out I was lying._

Crimson eyes. The taste of her lips.

_Why did I get away with this? Why did I barely get hurt while she lost a part of herself? Why did I make it out? It’s not fair. I don’t deserve it. Why am I alive?_

_Yang..._

“Blake?”

I blink. My eyes stare wide at the thick mahogany door in front of me. My right hand is inches away from a big metal door knocker. I take a step back, looking at everything before me: the thick adobe walls with a perfect coat of brown paint, the pair of twin windows to each side of the door, the potted plants hanging high on the ceiling clearly not belonging in the Vacuan desert, the heavy drapes blocking the view from the inside… the familiar Mistrali pattern on them.

My jaw hangs open as I realize I’m standing right outside my parent’s house.

I turn to my left to face the one who called me. Even though I brace myself for the familiar face who greets me with a shocked expression. I freeze in place when I lock gazes with a pair of greyish blue eyes. I take in the ruffled blond locks, the usual unbuttoned shirt, and an eager tail curling behind him. There he is, my best friend: Sun Wukong.


	2. Instinctual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just say Blake has a lot of regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to https://neurovascular-entrapta.tumblr.com and DragoLord19D for beta reading.

She lies there with an exhausted expression on her face, like she has just collapsed on her bed from an arduous day at work. Her golden locks are sprawled across the floor, glittering slightly. They frame her face like the perfect painting, some strands are caressing her cheeks like a careful lover, and yet, her ethereal mane is tainted by the blood pooling around her.

She’s so close I could touch her, but I can’t.  _ I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t— _

Ilia drags me back and the collar of my shirt wraps itself tighter around my neck like a noose. My face stings as salty tears run over my wound and the remnants of Dust from Wilt’s blade burn my skin. The smell of iron and burnt gunpowder invades my nostrils as I gasp for air.

Adam laughs, drawing in a sharp breath when he’s done. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect this.”

“I know you were always good at gaining people’s trust.” He keeps Wilt’s end hovering near Yang’s face. There are no traces of her blood on his blade. He always cleans it with a quick swing, as to keep the ‘impurities’ off his weapon. “But, I must say, I am impressed as to what end this  _ particular _ human was willing to defend you.”

_ Don’t—  _ I jerk myself towards her body, fear festering within me as I see the pool of blood growing underneath her. Despite my attempt to get away from Ilia’s grip, I’m unable to do so, again.  _ Please, don’t hurt her— _

Ilia mumbles something. Her lips are pressed hard against my hair for a moment before they are gone. I draw a shaky breath, unable to make out the words.

“I don’t get it,” Adam says. He twists Wilt inches away from Yang’s skin as he observes her.

A raw need to wrap my arms around her and cradle her body surges within me. I let my body slacken and lean forward. I feel the metallic whip of Ilia’s weapon sliding against my wrists: it’s loose. I look behind, her mouth open as she stares at Adam, completely unaware of me—

“Blake!”

I jump. My eyes snap back to him.

His lips are twisted in a scowl as he steps towards me. His fists clench around Wilt and Blush as he walks away from Yang.

_ Yes. Yes, get away from her. Please, leave her alone. _

“Get a hold of yourself!” He scolds me, sheathing his chōkuto in frustration. “ _ Maidens _ , what happened to you?”

He is there, standing before me, red dressed in all black, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of this grey and forgotten warehouse and yet… My eyescan’t seem to focus on him, they keep unconsciously darting to Yang. It has always been this way, but now as I run out of tears, everything else fades in a way that scares me. 

_ I have to get her out. She’s going to bleed to death if I don’t get her out.  _ My mind becomes clouded, Yang’s name ringing in my ears like a fire alarm.

“You dedicated most of your life to  _ our _ cause with unwavering passion and conviction, and then you betray us for scum like this?” Adam continues. He walks around me, always keeping a hand on Blush. His footsteps on the cold pavement sound like a clock.

My eyes wander frantically, registering every crate, every piece of cloth, shelf, water leak and spider web around me like a nervous tic.

Adam rambles about our earlier days: the blackmailing of Vacuan shop owners taking advantage of their workers, and the assassination of the ring leaders who pitted faunus against one another for human entertainment, knowing well howl how desperate faunus were.

I look back at the other White Fang members behind Ilia. I see Gambol Shroud tucked in between Yuma’s arms. He’s distracted watching Adam with a smug expression on his face, mouth almost literally watering at the mention of blood. 

Adam carries on describing the last expression of the Atlesian slavers as we broke out countless families trapped in the slums; the factories we destroyed in Atlas, the hundreds of faunus we rescued from the Altesian mines.

_ Trifa is near Yuma. If I make a move, she without a doubt will try to trap me. I should move fast. _

“Tell me, Blake. How is it possible that  _ you _ , of all people, would trade the lives of your brothers and sisters for murderers and slavers like this one?”

_ I could get Gambol Shroud out, kock Yuma into— _

The sound of the back of Adam’s hand hitting my cheek echoes through the warehouse.

“How rude of you, Blake,” he says, anger seeping through his lips, and I feel my stomach turn. “You should listen when  _ I _ am talking to you.”

My eyes meet his mask. I feel his gaze piercing through me and I can’t help but look at Yang again. Her chest weakly rises as her blood runs cold on the concrete.

Adam groans, and grabs me by my chin. His fingers dig into my cheeks and the wound opens. “You still won’t listen to me.”

There’s a door to my left, but it’s blocked by two large steel bars.  _ The only way of escape is the main door Adam came from. I could bust them open— _

Adam lets go of my face and walks towards Yang. My body jerks as he grabs the hilt of Wilt.

“You care about her, don’t you?” His lips twist into a haunting smile. “It seems that even if  _ I _ am about to execute you,  _ she _ is more important than me.”

_ Get away from her. _

“After all these years of dedication, you get attached to some puny little human you were supposed to kill weeks ago.”

_ This is my fault. I should have listened to him. _

“What is it about her?” He wonders, his fingers tapping his chōkuto’s hilt. “What did you see in her?

“Why is it that you can’t stop thinking about her when so many faunus died because of you!”

The bright reflection of Wilt's red blade blinds me _ — _

“You’re wrong!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

Adam stops. He sheathes his blade when he turns to me. “What?” He asks, shocked, angry.

_ Please. _

“I didn’t want anyone to die! I wanted to stop this— everything!” I cry out, incredibly happy to see him moving towards me again. I count each step, yearning to have him before me again in a way I can’t forgive myself for.

_ Come to me. _

“What we’re doing is wrong!” I rebute.

_ Take it out on me. _

He growls.

_ Hit me. _

“All the White Fang has done is strengthen the divide,” I interrupt him before he can even protest. “It hasn’t helped us at all! It has only given humans more reasons to distrust us, to deny us. It has only festered the hate in humans and in us as well. We should be treated as equals, not out of fear, but out of respect. We don’t have to—”

“Respect? Our ancestors fought by their side, and look how they repaid us—!”

I clench my teeth, tasting the words before they leave my mouth: “You can’t judge all humans based on the actions of some of them!”

“You are a  _ traitor _ !”

I feel the coldness of his blade against my throat. The small particles of Dust tickle my skin before I slide to the side. The welcomed caress of a shadow taking my place like the hollow skin just shred by a snake. Getting out of Ilia’s grip is simple, energizing. I jump at Yuma and take advantage of the element of surprise. His grasp on Gambol Shroud wavers. Though my hands are on my weapon, my eyes focus on Trifa.

She glares daggers at me through her shocked expression. She begins to aims her wrists at me, ready to cover me in her aura-infused webs. I yank Gambol Shroud from Yuma and kick him straight into her. Both end up trapped by her webs.

A powerful caw echoes through the warehouse and I decide to blindly trust Alden.

Ilia fumbles around, clumsily trying to get at me while the other two White Fang members near them shoot at me. With a quick jump to the left and then right, I avoid their bullets. The raven sinks his claws into their faces. Ilia tries to help them, her face turning to me as she does. Her jaw hangs open as she watches me use my Semblance again to get out of their grasp. I bet her eyes look like plates underneath that mask as she sees me slide past Adam towards Yang.

He screams, dragging his chōkuto down in a vain attempt to hurt me.

I slip on the pool of blood, falling to my knees in front of Yang. I clumsily lift her on my arms, bullets tickling my ears as they pass by, too close for me to get comfortable. I take a deep breath and run towards the only exit. It feels like I know where everything around me is. I groan: a bullet cuts through the side of my thigh. My instincts take over when I charge through the last two White Fang guards. The adrenaline keeps me running despite the pain, and I start shooting Gambol under Yang’s weight to deviate some of their attacks. I look back, out of instinct, like part of me  _ needs _ to see him.

Adam raises his hand, two fingers up while the rest wrap around hilt, “Let her go.”

He draws a sharp breath as my left shoulder crashes against the limp aluminum doors of the warehouse. Alden slips through the gates before I get out.

“She has nowhere to go.” Adam’s lips twist into an arrogant smirk as the rest of the White Fang members lower their weapons—

“Blake?”

I jerk up, eyes open wide as I’m confronted with my reflection in the mirror. 

I’m on a bed. A dark wooden frame lies behind me, old maroon covers under me, and the light beige adobe walls paint the background while the thin wood around the mirror frames the scene. I turn to my right and find thick blond eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“This is the fourth time you’ve spaced out,” Sun says.

My eyes dart down the moment he sets a burgundy porcelain cup on the nightstand next to my bed. The tea cup is filled with a warm liquid, a weak line of steam coming off it.

“I’m sorry, I— I was just thinking…” I offer, and he doesn’t push. I can feel his kind eyes on me. His glance carries no weight, and he takes his time before breaking his silence.

“You can drink that, you know?” He smiles at me, squatting next to the bed. He observes me quietly as I glance back to the cup of tea he prepared and I feel the faint smell of chamomile tickling my nose. He chuckles, “I swear it’s not poison, I learned how to make it.”

He moves to sit on the side of the bed, resting his cheek on his hand as he observes me with one of his dashing smiles.

I finally take the cup, and bring it close to my lips. The porcelain is warm against my fingers, and the steam caresses my face like a welcoming touch before a kiss. I bite the inside of my cheek, afraid of what I see in the reflection. The liquid lies still, the eyes of a stranger staring back at me. I take a sip, and I hear Sun’s smile widen.

“To be honest, I’m kind of sorry I didn’t learn how to make it for you sooner,” he says.

I hum, savoring the taste on my lips. I’m surprised he paid so much attention to the herb combination since I don’t think it was store bought. Vacuo is rarely known for delicatessens. “Why do you say that?”

_ It’s not like I visit often. _

“Well, I still remember when we were like nine and you asked my mom for some tea all of a sudden,” he answers. “There I was, just a kid drinking his banana milkshake, while you were drinking herbal tea like an adult.”

“You still drink banana milkshake.”

His smile grows into a grin, shining bright in the middle of the room. “What can I say, I’m a man of good taste.”

I snort, and it takes me by surprise. The tea almost spills from my hands, and it takes me a moment to regain my composure. “Speaking about your mom, is she around?”

His smile disappears from his lips.

“She died about a year ago.”

“Oh, I— I’m so sorry,” I quickly blurt out, the drink going cold in my hands.

_ I knew that. I already knew Sun’s mom had passed away. _

“No, it’s okay,” he sighs, his shoulders relaxing as his eyes drift to an old picture of his parents on the dresser to his left. “At least dad has some company now.”

My eyes drop to the cup between my hands, as I am unable to look at the faces of Missus and Mister Wukong in the pictures. Both of them were so kind, it’s so unfair they are no longer with us. Even thought I hadn’t seen them in a very long time. I’d kept tabs on them and on Sun for a while. My trips to Vacuo on White Fang business were excuses to check on the Wukongs. I’d claim I was trying to convince Sun to join us, though I knew that was never going to happen.

“No,” I look back at him. “I’m sorry for… not being around.”

I see the way Sun’s jaw tightens as he hears that. He looks away from the picture frame savoring something on his lips.

“Is it true what they are saying? Was the White Fang behind the attack on Vale?” His question comes out of nowhere, but it feels right. He takes me in when I show up with broken shoes and dirty clothes, no questions asked, but in reality, he has a lot of questions.

I can’t simply stay and not say anything. He has the right to know, even if he hasn’t pressed me on it. “I was the reason it happened.”

He cocks a brow at me, mildly skeptical at my answer. “What do you mean?”

I look at the tea inside the cup, and find those guilty eyes staring at me again. I take a sip. “The White Fang struck a deal with a human named Roman Torchwick to harbour Dust and take it to Vale’s old mines. I was in charge of protecting Roman and making sure he carried out his end of the deal.”

“The name Torchiwck sounds familiar, but that can’t be…” Sun sits up straight, turning his body towards me completely. “The White Fang was working with a human?”

“Trust me, he is no human,” I say shaking my head.

_ I am the monster. _

I can almost see my own Grimm mask reflected on the tea. A vague memory of where I kept it flashes through my mind: I had it in my bag all along. Even if it was stored under a false bottom, I don’t even want to think what would have happened if Weiss had gone through my things.

_ She distrusted me, and yet… She knew Yang trusted me.  _ My stomach turns. “The old Valen mines were dangerously close to underground Grimm-filled caves and… The White Fang released all of them into the city.

“There was also a Wyvern trapped under Mountain Glenn,” I add.

Sun is unfazed by the revelation. Despite how bizarre the sighting of a Grimm that size is, it’s like the information is nothing but a mere detail. “Is that why you left? A Wyvern?”

“No. I had already made my choice before that.”

He cocks a brow at me, “Then, what was it?”

“Humans.”

His eyes go wide as he parts his lips, expecting an explanation like I just told him I’ve seen Wyvern with my own two eyes and lived to tell the tale.

“I traveled alongside wonderful people. They…” I stop myself as the color of Weiss’s baby blue eyes flash through my mind. I can see her rolling her eyes back while Yang teases her. I can hear Ruby laughing in the back of my head. “They risked their lives for some faunus, we— They were welcomed inside a campsite run by faunus.”

I wonder if Sohaib and his family is okay. I will never forget how he stared at Yang and me after we came to his family’s rescue, and the way he declared he would be a huntsman like us— like Yang… Many faunus probably fled to camps like his after Vale was attacked.  _ Will things get better for them that way? _

“I have always hidden my ears when I’m on an infiltration mission, and yet… when they found out I was a faunus… they didn’t treat me any differently.”

My ears on top of my head drop, the memories of that night at the camp quickly taking over: the cocky smile on Yang’s face as she pulled down the zipper of her jacket just a few feet away from me, the smell of her lavender shampoo, and the way she flexed her arms to show off her muscles. She knew what kind of power she had over me.

“Actually,” I sigh. “I happened to befriend a Schnee, and she minded.”

“A Schnee?” Sun gasps. “Did you mean specialist—”

“No, her sister,” I stop him just before he can play a movie inside his head.

“The deserter?” His brows furrow on his forehead. “But she’s thought to be dead.”

“Weiss is very much alive,” I insist. “She helps people as a huntress, and is in love with a girl from Vale, the Hero of Vale of all people.”

“Wow, man,” he crosses his legs over the mattress, swinging back and forth like a young boy before he leans towards me. His tail curls with excitement. “You didn’t just find some humans, you met the real deal.”

I smile, remembering the tension anyone could feel around Nora and Yang, as the two of them were thinking about challenging each other and breaking some laws of physics while at it. Ren was both happy and terribly worried Yang would give in to Nora’s proposals.

“Well, although I’m sure stories about what happened that day have been spread up to here. I don’t think you heard of Weiss Schnee protecting faunus.

“She apologized to me after saying horrible things and I…” My voice drifts off, like I just forgot the words before they could come out of my mouth. I press my lips together and decide on the right tone before continuing: “I just couldn’t keep doing the things I did anymore. The White Fang was wrong. 

“I was wrong about humans.”

Less than a second later, I find myself wrapped in powerful arms. Sun pulls me close, hugging me as tightly as he can without hurting me. The kindness of his touch and warmth overwhelm me to the point that it feels like we’re kids again.

I just lay there, lost, unsure of what to do with my arms as my best friend pours his heart and soul to me with no words.

“Blake,” he whispers, and he pulls away, slowly, like it hurts him. His eyes quickly find mine, and I can already see he’s ready to hug me again and never let go. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that! I’ve always believed you’d find your way, even after all these years.”

“Sun…”

“I’m serious!” He cheers, that goofy grin on his face as his face beams with excitement. His tail curls beside him. “Wait till your parents hear about this!”

I blink, his touch long forgotten like it happened years ago. “My parents?”

“Yeah! You were going to see them, weren’t you?” He fidgets, like a kid. The weight of his body quickly shifts as he can’t decide whether to leave to go get them or come back and drag me to them. I feel my throat closing in as he continues: “Come on— Oh, man. I can’t believe it’s finally the day—”

“No!” I take my hand back when he grabs my wrist.

“What?” His brows quickly furrow as he watches me pull my hand to my chest, backing myself against the flimsy headboard of his old bed.

“I can’t...” I shake my head, my chest tightening around my lungs.

_ I have to leave. _

“Why? Your— Your parents have been waiting for you for years,” he moves close to me, and I force myself against the wall.

_ I can’t stay here. _

“I can’t, Sun. Please.”

He stops, his eyes wide with… fear. “But, Blake—”

_ I need to— _

“Leave.”

The word leaves my mouth without my permission. It comes off like an order rather than like a plea. I’m surprised by the harshness of my own voice and I can’t help but blurt out my unwanted request again, “Please, leave.”

“Blake…”

He doesn’t say anything more; he doesn’t have to, I can see everything by the look on his face. The way his brows furrow slowly, how his jaw tenses, and the way his tail retreats and contorts in shame. The confusion, the fear, the disappointment… it’s all there in his eyes.

I see Yang—

I close my eyes shut. I force every thought in my head to stop before I see the look on her face again as she loses consciousness.  _ The expression she made when she realized the type of person I am. The traitorous waste of space who took advantage of h— _

I focus only in the fabric of the clothes Sun lent me, the maroon sheets caressing the soles of my feet, and the way the weight of the mattress shifts when Sun moves away.

_ I want to go. _

I hear his light footsteps against the floor, and picture his black and yellow sneakers with utmost detail.

_ There’s no place for me here. _

A creak, the door is opened. I feel the small breeze of fresh air coming from the outside of the room I’ve cornered myself into. The wood cries again, but the door doesn’t come to a close. It lingers, with the same uncertainty as my ears tensing atop my head.

“Just… promise you’ll be here when I return,” he asks softly, a plea so quiet, but urgent, it hurts my ears.

Sun closes the door, and I’m left alone in the guest room with my own thoughts.

_ I can’t. _

  
  



	3. Like old times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: He might not be the best, but he’s one of the greatest friends you could ask for.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Self-hatred and suicidal ideation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to https://neurovascular-entrapta.tumblr.com.

The dark wood protests in its hollowness as calloused knuckles knock against it. The old metal knob yarns for someone’s delicate touch, but the one carefully leaning against the door does not dare caress it, and I refuse to acknowledge it outloud.

We both stay there, feeling the tension in the air and allowing it to drag us down and devour us whole. Our lives don’t slowly fade as we wait in silence, but the lack of air burns through our lungs —breathing could disturb the punishment we created for ourselves. 

Finally, I hear Sun sigh on the other side of the door. The wood groans, and I hear him placing a plate down on the floor. “The news coming from Vale are slow, but I heard they finished patching the outer walls,” he says, and takes a bite of what I assume is an apple. One of my ears swerves into the direction of the door.

_ They were lucky Ruby was there, if her powers hadn’t stopped the Grimm, the walls would have been torn down long before they were able to evacuate civilians. _

“It doesn’t seem like they will re-establish the two or three trading deals they had with us,” he continues, clearly referring to the Kingdom of Vacuo as ‘us’. “Even if the rumors of the White Fang being behind the attack have spread, people still think it was Atlas.”

_ Atlas is planning on attacking Vale.  _ Even if I remember Weiss saying the Council hadn’t come to a final decision on the subject, it’s just a matter of time for that to change.

_If Atlas does attack Vale, there’s no way they will be able to withstand it._ _Even if the king has established a huntsman registry, and he manages to have them work together with the army again, it will be pointless. The Atlesian army hasn’t stopped training ever since the war, and after all the information the White Fang has gotten on their new technology, no other kingdom stands a chance against them. If the war started again, Weiss, Ruby and Yang—_

Sun takes a deep breath. “Is it true?”

I do not respond. My thoughts coming to a screeching halt, my blood cold in my veins.

“What they say about your friend, I mean, The Hero of Vale. Is it true that she has the power to destroy Grimm with her Semblance?” There’s a hint of hesitation and worry in his voice.

_ It’s not her Semblance, but yes, it is true. How does he know about this? _

“There are rumors going around…” he begins. “It’s not going to be long before someone puts a bounty on her head. The mercenaries at the bar just keep talking about it, like someone was interested to pay the price.”

_ Ruby is in danger. Why— why do I care? I can’t do anything about that. I have put them in danger enough. I’ve hurt them enough. By the gods, I was supposed to— _

“I haven’t heard anything about Weiss Schnee, so I’m sure she has managed to keep her head low while being at the side of The Hero of Vale,” he sighs. “I hope she’s safe.”

_ Why would you be worried about Weiss? You don’t even know her. _

“Blake?”

I glance over to the door.

“I hope all your friends are safe.”

_ They— They are not my friends. _

“Anyways, I… I’m going to leave your lunch here.” The wooden door gorans again, and I think he’s leaning against it to stand up again. There’s a clatter of a plate and cutlery as he moves. “But I can stay with you, if you want.”

His proposal lingers in the air, and we both know that’s where it will remain. The weight on my shoulders returns and grows heavier the quieter everything turns. I just yearn for a sound, a vague footstep or another sigh, to ease the tension as my ears search for any indication of movement.

Once again, Sun gives up and walks away, leaving me alone like he has in the last couple of days.

Silence reigns, like a tyrannical dictator, and I let that happen; I’m nothing but a lost peasant who doesn’t know any better. I don’t know if it’s out of fear or complacency anymore. Listening to Sun makes my heart ache because he’s a better person than I ever was and I’ll ever be. He is far too kind to me, and I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve a place in his home. I don’t deserve this bed, or the warmth of the sheets, or the food he prepares for me, or the soft breeze of the cold Vacuan desert.

That’s why I close the windows and let myself suffocate in the stagnant air of this room, like the putrid smell of a corpse decomposing with its chest wide open, when no vultures are around to claim it. That’s why I barely eat anything, and when I do, the food tastes bad— rotten— like I am. That’s why I don’t open the door when he calls for me: I don’t deserve it.

Adam appears before me, flashes of his hair, of his blue eyes, and the shiver inducing sound of his voice in my ear every time I wake up. The SDC scar is burned into my eyelids every time I blink. I’d rather be tormented by him than be graced by the presence of Yang in my memories. I’d rather remember the smell of her blood than the beauty of her smile. I’d rather be chased by Alden in every nightmare without an escape, than being allowed to dream. Even then, that wouldn’t hold a candle to how despicable I feel when I see  _ her  _ bloodshot eyes staring at me.

I’m toxic and I poison everyone around me.

Yang’s raven used to keep track of me and I felt his presence behind my back at every turn. He always carefully watched every step, like he always knew who I was and what I was planning before I did anything to raise suspicion. If he could talk, he would have ratted me out the moment Yang first saw me.

So, I keep myself locked in this room, scared to go outside and ending up in some tavern or getting killed in some mindless mercenary mission, because I know I will jump right into one the moment I find myself out in the world again. I also hate every bone in my body for being that much of a coward. _ What kind of awful person am I to take advantage of Sun’s hospitality? Haven’t I done enough? _

Days turn into weeks, and the answer to that question eludes me, or rather, I keep it in the back of my head, silenced, like the desperate need I had to tell Yang everything before reaching Vale. It was too late back then, and it’s too late now.

Sun’s back slides against the door. At this point, I’m all too familiar with that sound and I’m able to recognize it in a strange way. I can tell he’s tired by the way his chain scratches the wood carelessly before he finally sits on the floor.

“So, I think I can tell why you like tuna sandwiches so much,” he says, while chewing on a big bite. “Though, I must admit, I’m getting a little tired of the taste.

“I won’t stop making them until you come out, tho,” he states. “I promised.”

He might be one of the most stubborn people I know. He always tried to impress me while growing up. At first he was obsessed with growing an inch taller than me, then that turned into training to match my speed or my ability with a sword, waking up every day early to barge into my home and help my mom with breakfast so he could ‘woo me’. Even when I left to train with the White Fang, he always begged me to return. I called him an idiot and kept turning my back on him, choosing the wrong path when he offered me salvation. I rejected him in more ways than one.

“I still help people in the mines, by the way,” he says, his voice more excited than usual. “I’m always making sure the kids make it safe to visit their parents when they are working. I feel like a preschool teacher, even if some of those kids are like 10.”

He takes another bite, and swallows down some liquid. It’s like he’s extremely loud on purpose.

“Did  _ shou _ know your mom helped open  _ shome _ schools for faunus? Well, I’m not  _ shure _ most of them can qualify as schools,  _ shince _ a lot of people in town don’t really consider them so,  _ but _ the classrooms are helping  _ kidsh _ , y’know?” he says with his mouth full. “Some of the teachers are humans, others are friends of your mom— My mom did help a little before she passed away.

“So I go and pick the kids up, take them outside of the mines and let them say hi to their parents,” he chuckles. “Some human kids have actually joined along to see their parents as well. I’m sure you know now some mines are mixed.”

_ Yes, I know that, but it wasn’t by choice. The humans didn’t want to work with faunus, it was the need of wages and some stability that drove them into that sinkhole. _

“Gotta tell you: some of them were pricks at first, but you should see how far we’ve come! Humans and faunus all laughing together at how awful shit is. It’s… kinda nice in a way. For the first time since the war, the slums don’t feel as much shit.”

I want to believe in those words, but history has taught me not to. Humans and faunus worked together during the war, and we both know where that ended up. I clench my teeth, my thoughts drifting to Coco and her team, the way her fingers interlaced with Velvet’s like they had found their home. Doubts creep in as an unwelcome shiver while I wonder if those days I spent with them will ever fix the years I’ve spent seeing the worst of humankind.  _ Will the workers get together and unionize against the selfish and racist mine owners to protect each other? Or will the humans turn on who they now call brothers if given the offer? What will become the natural order? _

“I’ve been tracking you,” Sun confesses it like he has murdered someone dear to me. He hopes to elicit some sort of response, or so I think. He hasn’t dared to open the door of his own guest bedroom as a parasite leeches in his home.

My blood runs cold before he even continues, the bed around me feeling as foreigners as the wall that has been watching me for weeks.

“I always knew when you came back, where you were deployed, and when you were gone,” he says, and I look to the door, almost seeing his figure behind the old wood perfectly framed by the weight of dusk. “I know you always kept an eye on your parents. You watched them to make sure they were doing alright, and never let them see you, but I did, always.

“I knew which White Fang hits or rallies were your doing. How many crime scenes had your name written all over them, and even then I knew you were going to come back.”

_ You didn’t know that.  _ My throat closes and I grip the bed sheets tighter.

“Blake, you don’t have to worry about what I think or will think of you,” he says. Sun shuffles against the wood, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise. “I knew you were going to be in Vale before anything happened, and you don’t need to confess to anything you’ve been involved with if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything—”

“Shut up,” something primal takes over me, my voice coming from the back of my throat as I speak through my teeth.

“Blake—”

“You can’t possibly know everything I’ve been involved with— of everything  _ I’ve _ done,” I spit, anger boiling in the bit of my stomach like it has festered there for years. “I don’t care how many tabs you have on me or how many people you had tracking me, you have no clue of all the horrible things I’ve done!

“I don’t need you to pretend like you’re okay with anything, not even a small fraction of things you heard I’ve done,” I draw in a sharp breath. “It doesn’t fucking matter.

“Just drop it.”

I don’t notice how tense every muscle in my body is until my teeth hurt from clenching my jaw. I choke on a sob, fighting the tears before they trace the shape of my cheeks, terrified that he will see me when the walls prevent him from doing so. I am painfully aware that I’m unable to draw in a breath without shaking like a leaf, my body feels like glass, like it could shatter at any instant, and there’s nothing I can do about it. 

My ears don’t react to all the noise the Sun makes when he leaves, and I just stay there, my knuckles are white around the sheets. My mind doesn’t wander outside the room, following his footsteps and letting the vague memories of his home fill in the blanks of where he is, and where I would stand if I were in his presence.

I let go of everything when silence overtakes the hallway again. Suddenly, I’m too aware of the walls around me, and I curl up on the mattress, my back turned against the door like it could somehow increase the distance between me and Sun.

_ Haven’t I made enough mistakes for a lifetime? All I had to do is stay quiet like I always do and I can’t even do that. Years of training to observe and not letting anything slip from my lips, and here I find myself spilling hatred like I was made for it. _

The sun goes down, and up again. Adam wakes me up, Ilia mutters something against my hair, and the cold cement of the warehouse’s floor quickly fades. When I take a deep breath, I cannot taste the gunpowder, the garbage, and iron. It’s always like this: me staring at the nightstand beside me, then the window and how the translucent red curtains look magical thanks to the sunlight fighting to get in. When my eyes dart to the rest of the room, they stop by the mirror aligned perfectly with the bed.

_ I should leave. Where would I go? I know where I’d go: to the tavern on the way to the mines. There’s always people looking to hire there. I could hide my ears, and pretend to have enough bullets to make it through the day. A lot of people would pay good cash for a huntress— No. I can’t call myself that. I’m not worthy of being a huntress. _

_ Ruby is a huntress. _

_ Weiss is a huntress. _

_ Yan— _

I get up, and cover the mirror with the bedsheets. My knees feel weak and my feet hurt when I take a step back to admire my masterpiece. There’s a moment when the anger fades and for a fucking second there’s pride. Then, I feel disgusted with myself. 

_ I would sign off my life to any job offered there, I can’t really allow myself to be picky. I need money for food and bullets. I can even consider buying better clothes, if I can convince myself I even deserve new ones. I would head off into the dessert and find myself inside the hive of some Lancers, or face a Blind Worm on my own.  _

I head to the door. The doorknob begs to be caressed, it whispers such sweet things to me, but then I see my reflection on the old copper and the boldness I once found is gone.

_ I could look for any search and destroy missions, or for someone asking to retrieve something stolen. I could track people or sell information to any lowlife I find. A mercenary: that’s what I am. Putting up my skills for hire and doing my best to hide my heritage and pretend I’m okay with that. The White Fang or any Vacuan huntsman who knows who I am could turn me in; I face certain execution on both sides. The only difference is the self-aggrandizing monologue and whose face I will be staring at when they pull the trigger. _

My grip tightens around my hand. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, crying for mercy when everything tells me I shouldn’t give it any. When I open my eyes again, I don’t see the warehouse, the guest room of Sun’s small greets me like an old acquaintance. It used to look so different, so lively. When I look at the adobe walls I can almost see the marks left by the tape Sun used to hang out his posters. His dad never let him paint over his walls, never mind use air cans on them, so he did the next thing that came to mind: paint over large sheets of paper to later hang his art all around.

While the young White Fang members created murals for faunus liberation and the anarchist movement. Sun painted highly stylized Vacuan symbols and crests. He took the currency and turned it into a two story mural. He had painted the face of the many soldiers and mine workers all over the low income neighborhoods, giving them a memorial when nobody else would. Here, however, he kept drawings of his parents, of my mom… even my dad, and me.

He used to say he would marry me one day, that it made sense to have pictures of his family close by, but we never got married; we never even dated. His promise became hollow, like these walls have become plain.  Sun turned his room into a guest room, a while after his mother died. Now, what remains of his childhood space, is just an old bed frame, two nightstands and an ugly dresser his parents got him at a flea market.

A couple of frames lay on the wooden dresser. One his father and all of the mine workers from back in the day; the other, a picture of his mother and father, as he made faces at the camera.

_ Maidens, I feel like a tasteless fool.  _

I can only feel regret when I look over Missus Wukong’s face, recognizing the features she passed on to her son: the kind smile, the color of his eyes, the shape of his nose. I chuckle, it’s painful, like the ending of a cruel joke.

Sun has his father’s brows, chin and hair—

The door unlocks with the subtlety of a dog rushing through the threshold. The smell of sugar and chocolate assault my nostrils just as quickly as I hear the door open. My body tenses, and I clutch the pillow like my life depended on it. When I sit up, the whole mattress groans under me, not used to so much movement in a single day. There’s no knocking, no calling my name softly, no walking on eggshells, hoping to get a response.

He doesn’t look at me, despite making it obvious that he’s aware of my presence on his old twin bed. He leaves a metallic tray on the nightstand closest to the door, and then makes his way to the window. He ignores the bedsheets clinging to the top of his old mirror and its implications. He opens the curtains, letting the sunlight invade the whole room for the first time in weeks. Gold takes over, an invader completely claiming everything on sight.

After opening the windows, he ignores my disheveled look when he makes his way to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he shifts on top of it to face me properly. When Sun’s greyish blue eyes lock with mine, the corner of his lips turn up. It feels like he has found his place in the world by just sitting inches away from me. When I look at him, I see my mother’s face: the way she smiles every time she cooks, and how twisted her lips when she finally pours the chocolate mix into the baking tray. 

I don’t need to look at the metallic platter laying on the nightstand. I know there’s a fresh batch of my mom’s brownies waiting for me there. The smell tickles my nose and entices me softly to let myself go for once.

Sun grabs one of the small chocolate cakes and offers it to me.

I shake my head, pressing my lips together, afraid of giving in.

“Blake,” he calls me, like he has just woken me up from a nap. “I know you haven’t eaten in the last couple of days.”

I swallow, hard, and tear my eyes away from the brownie. “Sun…”

“Please,” he insists, and moves his hand towards me.

I cradle his hand between mine, my body suddenly aching for touch, eager to feel his skin under my fingertips. He doesn’t have to say anything else, it’s the weight of my childhood memories that tear everything down. Forgotten days of happiness under the harsh Vacuan sun and the coarse sand stuck to the soles of our feet as we rush into my parents’ kitchen, eager to taste what I now have in my hands.

My vision blurs in the same moment that my mouth waters. Tears fall down my face zealously when I take the first bite; everything breaks the moment I taste the almonds and the warm chocolate syrup hidden within the pastry.

Sun runs his hand up and down one of my arms, and scoots closer when I begin openly weeping like a child who has lost their way home. 

“I forgot to tell you: I help your mom sometimes,” he offers, voice low and soothing like a blanket. “I’m her  _ favorite  _ errand boy, taking papers here and there to help your dad, but sometimes, I also help her in the kitchen. Thank god Kali is so patient because turning me into a decent cook was a fucking miracle.”

He chuckles, his tail slipping under the pillow.

“She and your dad opened a consulting office in your house. They give legal advice to faunus, and help the community in every way they can,” he continues, and hands me another brownie. He doesn’t ask, he just knows what to do when my hands are empty. “Your mom takes care of the cases in the morning, and your dad takes over during the afternoon and during the night. People line up to see them.

“And I know what you’re thinking: no, they are not formally recognized by the kingdom’s officials, but your parents know what they are talking about, so many humans actually know they mean business,” he licks his lower lip, musing on his words, and I know what his pause means. I don’t need him to continue to know where he is going with all of this, but I pretend not to know and clean the tears off my cheeks before grabbing another brownie.

“They miss you.”

_ Don’t. _

“I’m sure they would be happy to see you again.”

_ Stop. _

“I know you think they won’t but—”

“Stop!” The chocolate cake turns into a pile of crumbs in my hand. “I can’t go back.”

He moves on the mattress, facing me head on, “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I can’t go back after everything I’ve done!”

“Stop saying that—”

“I don’t deserve it, Sun,” I move out of the bed. “You keep giving me things, telling me that everything is alright despite that we both know it really isn’t!

“I don’t deserve this!” I gesture to the brownies, putting distance between us. “I don’t deserve them!”

“Blake—” he stands up, ready to grab me, but it’s inevitable, and we both know it: I slip from his grasp and escape through the window.

I leave his house behind. I hear him calling my name, my ears free to turn and twist into every direction without protection, without a place to hide. They lay bare, bracing themselves against the dry Vacuan air and the stares of humans and faunus alike.

Sun’s old shirt and pants sag and swing as I run. The fabric feels wrong on my skin, and constantly torments me in each step. It almost feels like I’m sprinting through charcoal, the sand and rocks sinking into my feet every moment, my only anchor to reality. My mind rushes through memories and feelings, then reels everything in piercing my chest with a stake. Every smile, every touch, laugh juxtaposed to every fight, every push and every time I left someone with their heart broken.

_ I shouldn’t have followed him. I shouldn’t have allowed him to help me. I shouldn't have accepted his kindness. I shouldn't have taken advantage of his loyalty. I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I shouldn’t have joined the White Fang. I shouldn’t have taken on the mission to protect Torchwick. I shouldn’t have tried to get Weiss and Ruby off his back. I shouldn’t have joined their team. I shouldn’t have tried to sabotage them. I shouldn’t have let them go to Vale. I shouldn’t have lied to them. I shouldn't— _

_ I shouldn’t have met Yang. _

_ I— _

_ I should have never met Yang. _

The next time I blink, I find myself on top of the old abandoned watch tower. I’m standing on the dirty and forgotten wooden boards left by the construction workers. There’s an unfinished brick wall around me, and a perfect view of the old mines before me. Right there in the desert, I can see how the dunes softly lead my eyes to the abandoned caves, and where exactly my path diverted when I walked down with Sun. I am able to spot the place we were attacked, and how a mountain filled with Lancers’ hives threatens peace. We had been so close to dying that day. If the Boarbatusks hadn’t found us earlier that day, we would have died… four brave men died instead.

I sit down, the small grains of sand sinking against the old jeans lent to me. I take a deep breath, appreciating the morbid view in front of me, watching the sunlight caress the dunes like an old friend. 

_ I shouldn’t have let my guard down. _

Everything started like a simple tease, something I had been used to doing during certain undercover missions. That’s what Adam liked about me: I could shift, twist, and turn into everything anyone wanted me to be, or at least, making me into that was what made him proud. One day, he praised me about being an attentive listener, someone with fire in their eyes, but not the boldness or recklessness of a simple ground soldier. He would taunt me and challenge me to ‘solve’ people. He wanted me to make them do what he wanted. I liked to have his approval; I liked being recognized by him.

So, the next day I was told to use my listening skills and I was sent under cover. My ears could be covered easily — my faunus trait could go unnoticed— and I could be the perfect spy among humans. I could get lost in the crowd, or stand out like a mysterious beauty. Unlike Ilia, who could pass just as well as I did, I was considered ‘enticing’, while she was described as ‘exotic’.

Flirting was just one of the things I learned along the way. The more ‘mature’ I became as I grew up, the ways my targets changed the way they viewed me. So, I adapted, and I started using my allure and the ‘aura’ surrounding me in my favor. Men or women, it worked with both of them. Adam was so pleased when I realized I was comfortable with getting close to people of any gender. The expression on his face that day makes me sick to my stomach now that I think about it. It was like he was licking his lips without actually doing so.

With  _ her _ , it was different. It started the same way it did with every nosey guy or girl: it was playful, harmless even. The promise of a ‘maybe’ if she played her cards right, but when I least expected, she got under my skin, and what once was a fake game became real. With every compliment, every smile, every touch, I lost a little control.

I’d be lying to myself if I simply say it was the childish pick up lines or the way she winked at me. I know I can be weak to the flesh, as I’ve given in more than once during a mission just to satisfy my selfish needs. It wasn’t the dancing around each other, or the painfully obvious looks, it was the way she listened, the way her bravado faded and that she couldn’t help but to wear her heart on her sleeve. She cared  _ so  _ much.

I could’ve come up with an excuse or change the subject in the most obvious way to push her way. I knew there were a thousand things I could’ve fabricated to stop it from happening, but when I realized it, it was too late.

_ I shouldn’t have never fallen for her. _

“There you are.”

I turn around, feeling my knees under my chin. I’m not sure when I hugged my legs and held them close against my chest.

“How did you find me?”

Sun sits down, letting a grunt escape his lips. “I had a feeling you’d be here,” he says, and lets himself fall backwards carelessly, one of his hands reaching out behind him to steady himself against the wood. His other arm rests on top of his knee. His dark gloves are now filled with dust and sand.

He stares into the distance, and I follow his gaze even though I already know he is staring at the mines his dad used to work in. I never understood him. He went through the same experiences as me: he witnessed the cruelness of humans first hand. He lost his father to the toxic fumes of the mines, and saw him lose his friend in cave-ins that could’ve been avoided if anyone cared about the safety of faunus workers. We were in the same place and viewed things so differently.

“Why did you never give up on me?” The words drag as they come out of my mouth, like I’m hesitant to even learn the answer, when I know I’m not. “You could’ve handed me to the authorities when you saw me watching my parents or every time I confronted you.”

I chuckle, “I purposefully tracked you and tried to entice you into joining hell.”

“I knew you were still there,” he says without looking at me. His eyes are diamonds, treasures only found once in a lifetime. The sun makes them shine and it feels like he has the answers to everything. “You could’ve turned me into the White Fang for refusing to help the cause and being a ‘race traitor’, but you didn’t.”

I sigh, looking down at my toes. “You should’ve turned me in.”

“I should’ve,” he says it as he tastes the way the words feel on his tongue. “But I guess I always felt guilty for not trying hard enough, like I failed you as a friend.”

“I wouldn’t have listened,” I confess. “I was so filled with hate, it didn’t matter if it was you or mom—”

I press my lips together, the air burns my lungs as I breathe in through my nostrils. The dry heat and mercilessness of my hometown is punishing me for my absence, treating me as a foreigner. “I called them cowards, Sun. I told my mom and dad that they were scum, and promised them I’d never return.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just shifts his weight forward. He brings his knees close and rests both arms on top of them. His eyes never leave the scenery.

“The humans who helped me, the ones I traveled with for a couple of weeks before Vale went to hell… I hurt them,” I snort, not intentionally, but tears gather at the corner of my eyes when I realize I did. “I hurt them really bad, Sun. I can never go back to them, and I’m so incredibly selfish that's tearing me from the inside. 

“I met one of the most wonderful people in Remnant, who made me realize that the world could be so much more than what I saw and I— I’ve caused them so much pain.” I ran my hand over my chin and one of my cheeks to get rid of the tears. I frown, “How— How can you say my parents will welcome me with open arms after everything I’ve done?”

I don’t have to say it, because I know the words will burn my mouth the moment they leave my lips, and despite the fact that I deserve that, I can dare utter them.  _ He knows it _ , I tell myself.  _ Sun knows I’ve killed people and harm so many others during different White Fang attacks. _

“They are your parents,” he says, his expression so honest and tired I can’t fathom he’d ever lie to me. “They will know their ‘no so little’ girl has come home.”

I laugh at that, and catch his eyebrows shooting up as he smiles. His eyes open wide when I throw my arms around him, hugging him like I should’ve done weeks ago.

_ Maybe Sun is right.  _

_ Maybe I should listen to my best friend for once. _

  
  



	4. Leaves from the vine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake finally comes back home after years of running around with the White Fang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to https://neurovascular-entrapta.tumblr.com.

The streets seem as busy as ever. Some people come and go, while others decide to catch up by the shadows, exchanging stories and jokes with friends. As they greet each other, the ones taking a break tease those who seem to be on the clock, carrying around goods or tools. The sun seems kinder to all of them today.

My fingertips become entangled with the curtain as I observe the outside with mild concern. Peeking like a small child, but with the awareness of a trained assassin who knows what lies on the other side of the window.

“Blake, I promise it’s safe,” Sun calls me from behind.

I bite the inside of my cheek, unable to clear my thoughts. I’m not really afraid of the White Fang tracking me. To be honest, they were the last thing I thought about while I crawled my way back into Vacuo, but now that the possibility of meeting with my parents has become a reality, the idea of them coming after me doesn’t seem that crazy; I betrayed them.

“Look, I’ve cleared the perimeter, there’s no White Fang members watching your house,” he insists. I hear the chain on his belt shake, his tail probably moving around.

I turn to him, closing the curtain as I do. “You don’t know how to establish a perimeter.”

He gasps, pretending to be offended, “I might not be as technical as you or whatever, but I’ll have you know that I’m a certified huntsman.”

There’s no certification given to huntsmen in Vacuo.

He sighs. “Look, I checked the area myself and asked Nebs and ‘Tavia to keep an eye out for WF members,” he walks over to the front door. “Trust me.”

“Nebs? ‘Tavia?” I cock a brow at him.

His tail wraps around the doorknob as he smiles, “Friends, because I have some  _ other _ friends that are not you.”

“After what a horrible friend I’ve been, it’d be sad if you didn’t have any, ” I say calmly, even if Sun seems worried about it. “Where do you know them from?”

“They are huntresses ‘n Octavia has trained with me for years. They’re really cool people— humans, by the way. I thought you’d be happy to know two humans are helping us right now,” he points out.

“Humans hunting White Fang members doesn’t sound far fetched,” I walk over to him, purposefully taking a small jab at him.

“Very funny,” he shakes his head, and opens the door for me. “Your parents garner some attention from time to time from both sides, and you should know about that.”

I do, actually. Adam wasn’t too happy to hear that two faunus who were fighting for our rights were doing so with the aim of equality between faunus and humans, rather than faunus rule over humans He used to tell me how displeased and disappointed he was at my family. The praise that I earned was at the cost of him berating my parents and what they were trying to do. He made me feel guilty about it.  _ I can’t believe I let him do that. _

As Sun and I walk towards my parents’ home, I grow silent, my doubts returning to my head and making themselves at home. Sun probably notices, but I’m too busy wondering if I was always this insecure and if that was the reason I was drawn to the White Fang. The organization used to give me a sense of purpose, a reason for being born into this world; now that’s gone, every decision I’ve made is tainted by regrets. I ask myself if the passion I felt when attending the rallies was really mine or if I just made mine what I saw in others, connecting with them regardless of the masks we wore. Every mission carried a sense of righteousness and adrenaline I found myself addicted to. I used to like fighting beside Adam. Sometimes Ilia looked at me like I had lost something along the way.

She mumbled something against my hair that day at the warehouse. I still feel her whip tied around my wrists and her breath hot against the back of my head.

Before I can dwell on that, I find myself in front of my parents’ house. The thick mahogany door I stared at weeks ago lies before me with the same sense of grandeur and omnipotence as before. I observe the dark patterns on the wood made by the years, the constant knockings, and several careless stumbles. I don’t think I’m worthy of touching it. I look at the windows, hoping the curtains are closed and that I’m unable to see the owners, but instead, my ears flicker at the mumblings coming from the other side of the door.

I feel every muscle in my body tense, my mind rushing through a panic, and I swear I can feel Sun moving behind me to catch me if I dare run away when—

“I think I filed their case yesterday, I just have to—”

The woman freezes in place when she notices me. The door looked light as a feather when she pushed it open, forcing me to take a step back, but now that she holds onto it, like she had seen a ghost, the wood regains its weight and imprint.

Mom’s short hair has never looked more radiant than now, and despite the years and the wrinkles, she looks as young as ever. Her golden eyes are bathed in amazement; they light up like those of a child and I can barely process the elegant outfit she wears before she jumps at me. Her arms wrap around me tightly in less than a second.

“My beautiful girl,” she says in a happy whisper, the words tickling my ears as she holds me close. She keeps mumbling things in my hair as she pours her heart out.

My eyes water even though I can’t understand anything she says. Despite how overwhelming her warmth is or the love in her words, there’s just one thing in my mind right now:  _ Was she always this short? _

I can’t remember the last time I hugged my mom and when that realization hits me, I wrap my hands around her and hug her as tightly as I can. Everything feels unreal, so much so I’m afraid she’s going to vanish the moment I open my eyes again. She smells like osmanthus and incense, somehow carrying Mistral around her like she never left. Her laugh tickles my ears and I feel like I’m a kid again and nothing has changed.

“Kali, dear, I still can’t find—”

My mom lets go of me as soon as she hears the deep voice. She keeps one of her hands on me, while she waves the other in excitement.

“Ghira, dear—” she says, her voice fading before she can finish the words.

When I look back at the door, he’s there: taking over the frame with his towering stature and somehow melting into a kitten when his eyes meet mine. He looks older —the wrinkles near her eyes pulling hard as many grey hairs peek out from his generous beard.

“Dad…”

Before I can say anything else, he picks me up with ease, and I suddenly become weightless. He hugs me as tightly as he can, and I laugh, realizing my dad has never hugged me like this, not since I was a toddler. He doesn’t say anything and puts me down just to let my mom join the hug after he hears her crying.

It’s so warm, so fuzzy, that I feel my doubts and fears leaving my body as everything gets replaced by good memories and excitement. The mere thought of being alone fades into oblivion, becoming an irrational and unconscionable notion to begin with. Dad’s silver spaulder digs into my collarbone and the fur on his coat tickles my neck. I begin to remember the times I pushed them away as a kid because his furred clothes bothered me too much. When he hears me laugh, he settles me down and carefully brushes off the tears from my eyes. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw and my chin slowly before he brushes my bangs away from my face. His eyes barely stop at the scar on my cheek.

“It’s been a long time, sweetheart,” he says with a warm smile. He keeps a hand over my shoulder as he moves back and inspects my clothes. He purses his lips, then shoots Sun a stern look. He has noticed the way a familiar white shirt and old blue pants hang loose around my figure.

“Sun, is this any of your doing?” 

“Oh, I was just trying to help, Mr. B.” Sun clears his throat, like he still was strangers with my dad. It’s kind of endearing. “I’ve been helping her get back to her feet, but she came back on her own.”

“Ghira, please,” my mom giggles, patting Dad on his chest. “Leave the boy alone. Our daughter is back home and we should celebrate. He’s invited to lunch.”

“But we just—”

“I am preparing a banquet,” she insists, clapping her hands together.

“Alright, Mrs. B! I can help you with that!” Sun joins my mother rather too eagerly as she goes back into the house. My dad extends his arm and holds him in place by the collar of his open shirt —the aspect of his outfit he disapproves most of.

“Behave,” he warns him like he still was a mischievous kid.

Sun gives him a huge smile and dashes inside in search of my mom.

My dad sighs, his eyes still tracking him before he goes into the kitchen, “I swear I knew that boy meant trouble the moment you brought him home the first time.”

“Dad, we were five,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and wrinkling the shirt. “You make it sound like he tried to get me into drugs.”

He laughs at this, patting my shoulder. When he looks at me, he smiles with kind and tired eyes. There’s a change in his expression when he reflects on my words: if anyone had tried to drag someone else into something bad, it wasn’t Sun.

“Anyways,” my dad takes a deep breath and gestures towards the house. “Let’s go inside, it’s been far too long.”

When I step in, it almost feels like a dream. My eyes wander across the walls, drawn to the corner where the adobe meets the wood —a simple yet incredibly elegant way for two cultures to be mixed so seamlessly, like it should be a standard. The high ceiling makes me feel so small, like nothing had changed since the moment I left, and yet, hardly anyone can appreciate its magnificent impact from the outside.

The dark wood peeks from underneath the large dull carpet my parents got at a flea market many years ago. The carpet still does its best to protect the luxurious floor boards underneath it. It’s ridiculous, how something so precious has to be hidden behind something so ugly and worn out to protect it. As a child, I agreed with my parent’s compulsion to keep the floor in its best condition, regardless of my disgust for the carpet. Now, as an adult, though I still feel it’s a tragic waste, I also think it’s become too much of a tradition to change it now by tearing the woven fabric from its place.

Dad closes the front door and walks past me. My eyes leave the old black couches to focus on his figure. The dark violet coat with the ticklish white fur makes him look bigger and taller than he is. I kind of miss his old working jacket he used to wear when helping the workers at the mine. The fabric always got dirty, and I can still remember mom complaining every time she had to wash it.

He wears beige pants and a sash around his waist with a large metal buckle that matches the spaulder on his shoulder, from which a pair of curved metal strips extend across his chest, attaching to a clasp on the other side of his coat. He still has his old black boots with open toes, perfect for his paws to get some air.

“I’m sure you have been quick to spot the changes from the last time you were here,” he says, observing the room himself. “Everything is... mostly still the same.”

Thick and imposing green marble pillars grace us with their presence at the corners of the room, making the living room feel like a palace. I remember my mother describing Mistrali architecture with so much passion and nostalgia that she could almost paint the marble from memory. They match perfectly with the numerous plants she keeps around the house. Add all that green to the red of the old carpet, and the room feels alive with color. It’s crazy to remember how small the house was when my parents first got it, and to see how much it’s grown as they poured their souls into renovating it.

I smile, almost ready to ask dad about the new maroon flowers or how polished the furniture looks; however, I can’t help but to notice something else: the family photos, they are spotless, shining even. There are several large paintings hanging from the walls, depicting wonderful landscapes from all around remnant, and yet, they don’t seem to be framed and displayed as proudly as the photos laid over the selves and the tables.

I find my mom’s slowly burning incense in between a couple of picture frames that were probably dusted today. The smiling faces of my parents at a younger age, covered in sand and dirt while they smile at the camera, mom is grabbing dad by his scarf as he laughs. Near it, a picture of me as a baby wrapped up in that very same scarf years later. I look around, every photo featuring them and me, perfectly taken care of, like they had been developed framed this very same day. Perhaps I was wrong before to presume that it was the old carpet and the plants which gave life to the small room.

“Blake?” My father calls me, interrupting his musings over my borrowed clothes in favour of coming my way. His brows furrow in worry as he stares at me, gently pushing some of my bangs to the side to get a better look at me. “Are you alright?”

_ Yes _ , I want to reply.  _ I’m smiling. How could I not be okay?  _ But when I chuckle, I sniff, realizing the very fresh trails new tears left on my cheeks. Despite my dad’s clear intentions to clean them I use the back of my hand to do it myself.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just never thought I’d get to be here again.”

He tells me everything is going to be okay by simply saying my name softly and hugging me tightly. I breathe in mom’s incense — the delicate mixed scents of osmanthus, lotus and chrysanthemum.

_ It’s alright. I think I’m going to be alright. _

Some time later, I find myself sitting in front of my dad in the small dining room next to the living room. Since I left, apparently, my parents took out the doors and the frames separating the room from the kitchen. I can smell mom’s delicious cooking before she even comes in with Sun. The small square table dad built before I was even born waits for her. I wonder if the small room felt lonely with only 2 people by the table.

When mom comes in, she reminds Sun to be careful of the plants. He laughs at that, but walks in like he knows everything by memory. He sets a large tray with sweet and sour eggplant in the middle, and then goes to the windows to open the curtains. Although I should be alarmed of the possible onlookers, my eyes can’t leave the dishes laid on the table before me. My mouth waters at the eggplant slices, pork and fish sauce that accompanies it before mom sets down a small plate with dumplings.

I feel dad’s eyes on me, and I’m almost certain he’s smiling, even if I can’t tear my eyes off the delicacies placed inches away from me.

“Sun, can you be a dear and bring the water, please?” My mom asks as she comes into the dinning room again with a big bowl of spinach noodles.

I cock a brow at her, surprised to find her coming and going into the kitchen to bring more plates minute after minute. “Where did you get all this food? Also, I thought you two were busy working all day.”

Sun places a large glass bottle filled with water in the middle of the table, and sits to my left, a huge smile on his face. I exchange glances with him, vaguely remembering the things he mentioned while I locked myself in his guestroom. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Oh, I might have emptied the fridge,” my mom smiles sheepishly. “We will be eating leftovers for a couple of days, that is if someone stops borrowing food.” She shoots Sun a glance and he shrugs.

“But you are right, sweetheart, we usually are busy,” she replies, a small bowl on her hand already. She starts to fill it with beef broth and a spicy tomato sauce. “This place sometimes looks like a runway: people coming and going all day long.”

“Some days are just slow,” my dad offers,and hands my mom the plate with the chopped potatoes and carrots for her to add into the bowl after she has put in the noodles.

“We have a couple of cases to work on, mostly from a couple of workers that got injured after one of the mines caved in,” she starts passing off filled bowls to each of us. Sun steals a couple of dumplings from himself, and uses his tail to offer me the tray with eggplant slices.

“Do you only take cases from the mine workers?” I ask, filling the empty glasses on the table with cold water.

“No, but as you can expect, those are the most common,” dad responds, tasting the spinach noodles. “Your mother has been helping several house workers and helping fund schools for faunus.”

My mom sits down, finally happy to see everyone has a full plate in front of them. Her ears twitch when he hears the way the cutlery faintly hits the plates. “Actually, I’ve found a couple of human teachers that want to increase their class size and help with onboarding materials.”

She smiles, the small dimples my father loves make a grand appearance. She looks amazing with the black shrug she wears, the right sleeve is long, while the left one is short. A small golden pin with the Vacuan emblem is attached proudly to her shrug and matches the three gold piercings she has always worn on her ears —two on her right and one on her left. Her black hakama and white shirt she wears underneath that makes everything pop.

“If we managed to get them connected to the faunus body of teachers we are helping develop, then the less fortunate children will receive a better education and hopefully they won’t yield to working in the mines in the future,” she continues.

“Actually, Mrs. B, do you think they’d also be interested in teaching some of the mine workers how to read?” Sun asks, his mouth full of food. Instead of watching my dad glare at him, I look at my plate, full and begging for my attention. “I’ve seen some of my little friends reading the newspaper titles to their parents during lunch break.”

My father hums, and I decide to grab a pair of chopsticks with hesitation, trying to not focus on the actual discussion they are having. Despite me being the one asking in the first place, the reminder of the social situation faunus have to deal here, back home, still makes my anger stir inside. I feel nauseous and I don’t believe shoving some beef and chili will make me forget about the choices I’ve made.

“We can discuss that later.” My mother stops my father from adding a comment. I can feel her eyes on me as I grab a bite.

When I close my eyes, I see fireworks, colors merging and exploding; an orchestra of flavors that overwhelm me with the right amount of surprise and familiarity. I can tell each ingredient apart, yet every taste dances on my tongue with eagerness. The comforting flavor of the beef and the broth brought to life by the spiciness of the tomato sauce. The egg bleeds into the spinach noodles and the small breadcrumbs give it the perfect texture to break the blandness of the soft boiled vegetables.

I hear my dad laughing, and when I open my eyes again, I find everyone but Sun staring at me. He is smiling, stirring his own bowl, like he was expecting me to get lost in my mom’s perfect cooking. I turn to my mom, and she’s hiding her smile behind one of her hands, her chopsticks grabbing a slice of eggplant as she avoids my gaze. It feels like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.

Against my own better judgement, I do not question their stares or reactions, I dive right in. Another taste of the amazing soup, a couple of slices of eggplant and I even manage to snatch two dumplings before Suns gets his chance. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this fast in all my life, but once I started, I feel like I can’t stop.

“What have you been feeding her? It’s like she has been eating scraps for the last year!” My mother cocks a brow at him, a playful smile on her lips.

_ I haven’t eaten much. It’s not his fault. _

“Tuna sandwiches, grilled tuna salad, uh… tea and some burgers?” he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten that much time to shop for ingredients lately and I actually enjoy cooking with someone else in the kitchen.”

“So, are you using cooking as an excuse for dates or the other way around?”

“Kali…” My father protests.

She laughs, “I’m joking. I know our daughter is not much of a cook, so I’d understand why you didn’t feel as inspired.

“So,” she turns to me, expectant, as I finish my bowl. “What have you been.... eating exactly?”

_ Where have you been? _ She means, but she doesn’t phrase it like that. 

“You were right, mostly scraps, but...” I lick my lips, reaching for my napkin. “I had an amazing ramen a couple of months back. It was prepared by a man in Kuroyuri, he’s an incredible cook”.

I can’t help but laugh. “His girlfriend kept eating some of his ingredients while he was preparing everything for my team—”

“Your team?” There’s an edge to the way my mom utters those words. She asks for permission without allowing herself to mention the White Fang.

I draw in a sharp breath, the words dying on my tongue before I can encourage myself to say them. Their taste lies there, like a painful reminder, and I look at Sun. I don’t even know why I do that. Am I asking for permission? Am I looking for reassurance, comfort?

Am I looking into those grey blue eyes, or do I see lavender for a moment?

“I, uh…” I swallow, looking down at my empty plate. “I traveled with some humans for a while.”

It feels like walking on thin ice, each breath is a step over the frozen water, testing the surface before I can fully give myself in and make it to the other side. When I look up to meet my parents gaze, it feels like I’ve jumped. I find the same hopeful brightness in their amber eyes as the time I told Sun.

_ Why? _

“She traveled with a Schnee,” Sun blurts out, unable to hold himself back. My jaw hangs open when I turn to him, somehow mad at what he thinks of a highlight.

“A Schnee?” My dad exchanges glances with my mother. “The Atlesian military hasn’t left the northern coasts, have they?”

“No, no, no. The other one,” Sun doubles down, using his chopsticks to tap on his plate. My dad frowns, mildly annoyed that Sun hasn’t provided him with a straight answer.

“The girl! The one who disappeared years ago!” My mom gasps before I can intervene.

“Weiss,” I sigh, placing my napkin on the table.

“Weiss Schnee,” my dad evaluates how the name rolls off his tongue. He brings his glass to his lips, “Where is she?”

“In Vale,” I respond, observing the excited look my mom and Sun exchange. “Would you believe if I told you she defended faunus during the Battle of Vale?”

My dad chokes midway through a sip of his water.

“Are you sure this is the same Schnee we are talking about?” he leans in.

I nod. “Ex-heiress, self exiled, and a former observer of the High Council,” I take a sip from my glass.

“Self exiled,” my father repeats, leaning back. The words seem to carry a different weight when he says it. It feels far more severe and blunt than when Weiss said it herself.

“Looks like faunus aren’t the only ones hating the Atlesian army, uh?” Sun chimes in, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

While my dad gives him a stern look, my mother leans forward, grabbing a dumpling, completely ignoring Sun’s vain attempt at a joke. “Did she truly leave Atlas on her own accord?”

“Yes, she said she was unhappy with her life there and in complete disagreement with the leaders,” I clarify, my mom’s expression filled with worry, pity.

“She’s also gay,” Sun adds, a huge smile on his face. “She’s dating the Hero of Vale— Oh! Yeah, Blake was also teammates with the Hero of Vale!”

“Sun!” I hiss at him.

“What? It’s true!”

“Still, ugh,” I shake my head towards him, clenching my teeth. When I look back at my parents, they are both looking at me, expectant, eyes wide open. My mom’s ears turn directly towards me. I sigh. “Yes, he is right, but I don’t think it’s okay to be openly talking about other people’s life when it’s none of your business.”

“It’s juicy gossip though,” Sun adds, and I don’t even bother to look at him.

“So, you said you were on a team...” My dad interjects, preventing Sun from derailing the conversation into a mockery of Atlesian traditions and their social norms.

“Yes,” I breathe out, failing to compose myself as the memories rush in, uninvited. “Ruby, Weiss… Yang, and, well, me. Ruby came up with the team name ‘RWBY’.”

“As in the Atlesian specialist teams?” My mom quickly asks, and I’m surprised she was able to catch on this fast.

“Yes, precisely like that.” I respond, and notice the way my dad nods with a hint of pride and respect. He closes his arms over his chest and presses his lips together. “I wasn’t with them for… long. I, um— I traveled with them to a couple of towns, Vale, and well, we found a faunus camp on our way to Kuroyuri.”

“A faunus camp? Are they escapees from the Atlas?” My father asks, frows burrow, and I notice the way mo mom moves her hand over his knee. He shoots her a glance. By the way his expression changes, I feel like he wants to change the subject. I stop him before he can:

“Yes. Their leader is a bat faunus by the name of Zephyr, he originally set up the camp for Atlesian escapees like himself, but then took in many faunus from Vale,” I explain. “Things in Vale are… tense.”

“Yes, we heard,” my father says, awkwardness overtaking his palette. “Your team, however, were they welcomed at this camp?”

I snort, and it takes me by surprise. I clear my throat, when I feel my mother’s concerned gaze on me, “We saved a family that were on their way back. The little kid was enamoured with us and his parents insisted we spent the night there instead of camping alone.”

Heat rises to my cheeks when I remember the river, the fireflies and the way Yang was staring at me that night. I shake my head, urging myself to carry on instead of dwelling on that memory more than I should, “Anyway, in Kuroyuri we faced a couple of members of the White Fang, some goons from a man named Torchwick, and well, that’s when Weiss found out I was a faunus and it got, uh, let’s say  _ complicated _ .”

“That’s what you meant when you said ‘they’ were cool when they found out you were a faunus, except for Weiss, right?” Sun asks.

“Yes, Weiss then apologized.” I nod. “During the whole ordeal, we met this couple: Ren and Nora. They were trained by a friend of Yang and Ruby’s uncle and they gave us a hand while we helped them find a blackmarket hideout underneath their noses. Ruby basically took charge when things went sour...”

“This Ruby girl,” my dad begins. “She’s the Hero of Vale, right?”

“Yes, she…”

_ “My mom used to read me a lot of stories about huntsman when I was little.”  _ Ruby’s words echo in my head. I remember the way she smiled when I told her I’d lend her my book, the one that now lies forgotten in that awful Valen inn with my old White Fang mask.

“She’s very kind, brave, and sweet,” I say, as if those words were enough to say who Ruby is. Somewhere in between lies the perfect way to describe her and it eludes me. The idea of summarizing someone as good-hearted and genuine as her seems ridiculous. I wish I could’ve spent more time with her because those days I got to enjoy her company seem far too little.

Without much of a thought, I tell Sun and my parents about our trip on the back of a truck, and how Ruby made us play Go Fish as a team building exercise. I tell them how she instructed us to fight as a team, after meeting me for a day, and how excited she got when she finally saw Gambol Shroud in action. I realize I never went to see her after she woke up. I just couldn’t bring myself to go into her room while she was unconscious. It was a dreadful reminder of how she managed to save the same city I had doomed.

I keep seeing her falling from the sky, and Yang begging me to help her save her sister.  _ Yang... _

I don’t talk about Yang; my parents don’t ask.

“Is it true?” My father inquires after I get on a tangent about how Ruby was really into the damascus steel used in Gambol Shroud.

“Hm?”

“What they say about her...” He exchanges a glance with my mom. At some point they had joined hands. I get momentarily distracted when I stare at the way their fingers intertwine. “Is her Semblance able to destroy Grimm?”

“Um…”

I still remember Ozpin’s instructions. Though some stories of the Silver Eyed warriors can be heard, they are thought to be fairy tales, and he would prefer they be remembered that way. I may have left them, but never since I abandoned Vale have I thought about divulging Ruby’s powerful lineage.

“Yes, but it’s complicated. It cannot be forced or used like she was pulling a trigger,” I lie, while also letting some truth slip. “What are they saying exactly?”

“Word on the street is that she can turn Grimm into dust with a look,” Sun replies.

“Word on the street?” I cock a brow at him.

“Well, it’s never the same person. The guys said the person who told them said she was there, or had a friend in the royal guard or something. Valen travelers and stuff,” he shrugs, painfully aware that this information is not very useful, but rather suspicious. Because he realizes this, he chews on his lower lip, his eyes lingering nowhere in particular before he addresses me again: “The ‘informants’ were always women, and they didn’t really  _ say _ what happened that day. They wrote it down on a piece of paper and I think one of them used sign language.”

He sighs, “I mean, my pal started making weird ass hand gestures, so I’m guessing that’s what they meant. I thought the guys were making the girls seem more mysterious on purpose. It’s hard to believe Vale almost fell from one day to another.”

_ Neo. _

_ It has to be her. She was the only one with Torchwick that day, and she got away. She saw Ruby using her power, just like Weiss did, but… What does she gain from this? Is it revenge, or was Ozpin right, and Ruby’s eyes make her a target? _

“Well, I guess this means you can tell your friends those are lies,” my mom jumps in, starting to pick up some of the plates to pile them up. “Blake, sweetheart, do you want to change out of those clothes? I’m sure we can find something in your room.”

“I —uh…” I blink at my mom, confused as to why she would bring up now, but she seems so nonchalant about it, it’s hard to say no. I shoot Sun and dad a glance. They are already taking care of the dishes, and offer me a smile.

“Come on, Blake. I’m sure you want to dress in something better than that,” my dad points out, and Sun’s jaw hangs open, faking indignation.

My mom grabs my hand, and leads me out of the dining room. We pass dad’s study on our way to the stairs. His dark wooden door is closed, which is new to me. I remember rushing in to watch him work when I was young, I could always come and go as I please. Now, privacy seems foreign and painful even.

I walk through the corridors, following mom close. I get lost in thought, unable to listen to what she says as she opens the door to my room. Then, it hits me: the black and white silks, the soft light, wooden drawers, shelves and desks, and everything I left behind when I ran away. I can recognize every book on the shelf, my nightstand and on the pile in the corner. The schematics of Gambol Shroud’s previous versions lie on the desk, no dust in sight. My mom walks in, invading the room and its atmosphere to draw the curtains to the side. They’ve kept everything clean, while still managing to keep everything just the way I left it.

I notice some of my old diaries, with the awfully misguided manifestos I wrote years ago, peeking from underneath my bed and suddenly it hits me: despite everything in this room being mine, the bed, the furniture, the schematics, books, pens, flowers and the lamps, this isn’t my room. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m no longer 14 or maybe it’s that I’m no longer the same person.

My mom says welcome home, but it doesn’t feel like it. I stare at my mom’s eyes and I find it. I find home or rather… a piece of it.

_ “I’m sure they’ll forgive you,” Yang says with the softest smile. “Sometimes, when we are mad, we say some stupid shit and hurt the people we care about, just because we say them, it doesn’t mean we actually mean them.” _

“Blake, are you okay?” Mom asks, she draws near in a second. I feel her fingers brush the tears off my cheeks. She cradles my face in her hands, expression filled with concern as she tries to lull me with careful shushes.

_ Yes,  _ I want to say. _ I’m back home. _

But I’m not okay, _ I miss her so much. _

  
  



	5. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path to healing is a long and arduous one, but we'll get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to https://neurovascular-entrapta.tumblr.com.
> 
> Merry crisis y'all~!

Renegade threads tickle the back of my neck. My mother’s humming an old melody as she cuts, mends, and angles the fabric correctly; her fingers brush my skin with the care of an experienced surgeon as she models the crop top to her will and taste. My eyes follow the three colorful pins she keeps in her lips as she trims the offending loose threads and brushes them off my back.

I can see the passion in her eyes: the way the corners of her lips quirk up as she moves to find the right angle to tackle an issue. I find it oddly calming. I’m drawn to her reflection in the mirror with a sense of nostalgia, of some lost time when everything was much simpler, when the world seemed like this wonderful place my parents ruled.

At least, that’s what I told myself. Part of me still can't bear to look at my own eyes staring back at me in the mirror. It’s easy to avoid my figure when I’m so keen on keeping track of the pins my mother has on her lips, or the way she moves, as if she were slowly waltzing. She keeps smiling every time she takes a peek at me in the mirror, pointing out time and time again how good I look, or how proud she is that I’ve regained weight. My body is starting to look a lot more like it had been prior to the Battle of Vale.

She’s not the only one commenting on my looks. Sun keeps complimenting me with a less varied vocabulary than my mom does. Yet, he keeps doing it every day, insisting on joining us for dinner, so he can keep up with his ‘bestie,’ regardless of whether my dad is there or not. I’m surprised that my dad doesn’t jump at Sun every time he calls me beautiful. Even if Sun had declared he would marry me when we were kids, I think my dad knows I haven’t looked at him that way for a very long time; or maybe he’s realized Sun’s not flirting with me anymore. The tone of my friend’s voice is tender and soft, happiness seeping through like he can’t contain it. It’s so chaste and sincere. He has also been eager to get me to train with him. 

“Sweetheart, you look gorgeous,” my mom smiles, taking a few steps away from me. She looks at her handiwork on my back, and then looks at me through the mirror.

I look at the black crop top Mom has adjusted to fit me better. I turn around to look at the diamond-shaped cutouts around my neckline she cut and mended to give the old piece of clothing a more modern look. “I think it looks wonderful. Thanks, Mom.”

“I told you it’d look great on you!” She puts all the pins on a tiny cushion on top of the dresser. “A Vacuan twist to an elegant outfit. “Now… I think you could use a white belt, and maybe… a coat,” she strokes her chin while she stares at the top and the black pants she fitted for me. “Your father will not be happy about the crop top.”

I chuckle, “As if he gets a say in how much skin I’m allowed to show.” I get off the small step stool my mom keeps in front of the mirrors in my parents’ room. “I will put a coat on when he puts on a shirt.”

She laughs, opening her drawer to find the appropriate belt for me. I watch her closely as she scans through the drawer, her index finger gently stroking each belt.

“Sweetheart, we both know you will need a coat, unless you plan on getting sunburned,” she finally picks one: it’s white with a golden buckle that seemed to be hidden in the back of the drawer, forgotten for years. “Unfortunately, I don’t think any of my old coats will fit you, but I can make you one from the spare fabrics I have in the closet.”

I feel guilty as I watch my mom mentally make a plan while putting away most of her mending tools. All the clothes in my bedroom no longer fit me. The only clothes I ever bought for myself are lost in Vale or were thrown away after Sun found me.

“Or… we can go shopping,” my mom states with stars in her eyes as she seeks my approval.

I shrug, not looking forward to the hellish Vacuan marketplace. I really don’t miss the loud merchants yelling at the top of their lungs for boring deals or bumping into countless groups of people while looking for anything remotely nice looking. Plus, one can only hope whatever we end up buying wasn’t made by enslaved faunus children. Maybe I could get one of those tourist shirts as a joke; I’ve always had a soft spot for ‘Vacuo: The wrong place at the wrong time’.

My mom seems clueless to what goes through my mind, she’s too enamoured by her old Mistali outfits she still keeps in her downstairs dresser. I’m still not sure how she got so many different changes of clothing considering how complicated life for faunus is in Mistral. Nonetheless, she keeps those silks like treasures, hoping to wear them again, or passing them to me as a way for her culture to live on.

My crop top smells like osmanthus, and some other flowery mixture I’m not able to identify.

“Would you like to try some more?”

I blink, realizing that I’ve stared at her dresser for too long. “Uh… I guess?”

She giggles, “It’s nice to finally see you staring at something else that’s not a window.”

I look away, and unconsciously, end up looking through the window. The neighborhood seems pretty lively this afternoon. Some people seem to be having some tea and biscuits by the door of their homes. Kids are playing outside, and for a moment I feel I’ve forgotten what Vacuo was like. Any moment now a giant crab or a Blind Worm can pop out of nowhere and disrupt the peace.

“Do you miss Mistral?” I ask, catching my mom by surprise. She doesn’t respond right away, and when I turn to look at her, she seems to have stopped midway through folding a dress.

She sighs, a nostalgic smile creeping onto her lips. “I suppose I do. I miss the wonderful gardens, and the smell of fresh wood in the early mornings, the clatter around the markets, and the endless sets of stone stairs that used to drive your father crazy. Vacuo seems so… flat and barren some times.”

“It’s a desert,” I say, sitting at the foot of her bed.

“You know what I mean. Although, I must admit Sudden Demises keep the surroundings _ interesting _ , to say the least.” She raises an eyebrow at me, and puts the dress away. She picks another article of clothing lying around and starts to fold it. “We didn’t really get the chance to visit the higher circle often, but every time you went upwards or downwards, it felt like you were in a very different town. The streets were always so small and somehow never crowded.

“Some of the houses looked like castles, standing three or four stories tall, it was impressive.” She chuckles, “It was also very easy to find good flowers to scent the house and I still remember some of the merchants in our neighborhood.”

She doesn’t say much more, I can see by the way she smiles as she continues folding clothes that there’s a lot more things she misses about Mistral. She’s probably thinking about the place where she and Dad met, or the small ponds and forest where he took her for dates. Mom has always described Mistral as if it were some sort of magical place, where civilization and nature seemed to coexist almost perfectly. 

“Do you still miss it, even though things are awful for us there?”

I watch her pause after closing the last drawer. She stares at everything laid before her, and though her shoulders are relaxed and nothing has truly changed within the room, the tension grows heavier. I’m not even sure why I did it, but I’m unable to take back the words just spoken. Perhaps I’m not 14 anymore, but what I just did was the same knee jerk reaction I had when my mother spoke about Mistral years ago, right before I left for the White Fang.

“Blake…” she breathes. She sits on the bed, inches away from me, her eyes glued to the floor as she finds the right words. “When your father and I are asked about Mistral, we think about the things we miss —the good things. This doesn’t mean that we have forgotten about the hardships we had to go through.”

Her eyes flicker towards mine and there’s no anger in them, there’s no fear. She doesn’t seem frustrated, like she did when I was younger, but rather, she looks tired. “No matter what place you ask about to any faunus, we are always aware of the situation we are, were, or would be in if we moved to that place.

“I could ask you about Vale and even if you probably think about the acts of discrimination you had to face while being there, what I mean to ask is: how was the city? Was it crowded? Were the restaurants as diverse and good as they say? Was it full of historic symbols and historians looking at its great wall with awe?” she smiles, and slides closer to me.

“Sweetheart, I know this is what you had done for the past years, even if you have now grown apart from it,” she grabs my hand, and tucks it between hers. She traces the calluses on my fingers with utmost care and reverence.

I sigh, remembering the long and broad streets of Vale, the suffocating customs entry point, and the restaurants Yang seemed to focus on while we were walking through the streets.

_ “When all of this is over, I’m taking you to a nice seafood place in Patch.” _

“Your dad and I could spend days talking about how lucky we were to be servants and not slaves. How lucky we were to find each other in all of that,” my mother says softly. “We could also complain about the harsh reality of Vacuo and how unwelcoming the city was when we came as refugees, but we don’t do that. We’d rather focus on the great strides the community has made, how we have come together, how we’ve improved and helped.

“Blake, we miss Mistral, but if we had never left, we would never have had  _ you _ ,” she smiles with an immeasurable amount of happiness. I see tears in the corners of her eyes, and almost out of instinct, my eyes water as well. She chuckles. “We made it here with the help of many, including humans, and we are changing things around here  _ with _ the help of humans.”

I want to hug her, I truly do, but I don’t. “You never told me how you and Dad made it out of Mistral— I mean, you did mention a boat.”

She giggles, and plays with my fingers. “Actually, it was more like: a boat, a caravan, and then another boat... Though, yes, you can take a boat from the east coast of Anima and then make it to the western coast of Vacuo, the amount of Mistrali military battleships would certainly stop you from doing that.”

“You sailed through the northern sea? Right between Solitas and Sanus?”

“Oh, by the gods, no!” She fakes a gasp. “A young girl your father and I met at the port by the name of Sienna helped us find an illegal ride to Sanus. We travelled along with many faunus families who were seeking refuge in Vale. When we finally made it to the coast, a human by the name of Ozpin made sure we reached Vale safely, and once we were there, he offered the possibility of coming to Vacuo for anyone who wanted it.”

I hold in my breath, the face of Ozpin flashing through my eyes: his white hair, his tailored suit and the brown eyes he kept hidden behind his spectacles. I remember him whispering something to Yang before we left the Arc mansion, and she never told me what he said.

“Blake?” Mom calls me softly. “Is everything okay?”

I blink, “I, uh— yes, why woul—”

My mom gives me a stern look, her eyebrows high on her forehead and her deep amber eyes stare at mine with no mercy. It almost feels like she can read my thoughts.

I brush my hair off my shoulder, nervously letting go of her hands. “I… I met Ozpin when I was in Vale. At least, I think we may be talking about the same man: white hair, brown eyes, and very well articulated.”

She hums, “Who carries around a very elegant cane he certainly doesn’t need for walking.” She smiles, “He was much younger when we met.”

I lick my lips, certainly more curious about how Ozpin seems to find himself connected to us. It almost seems like a given that he is involved with more things than I originally thought of. It’s almost as much of a mystery as to why he wasn’t in the White Fang’s radar before. After all, he helped a Schnee blend in among the people of Vale, and he has strong ties to very skilled huntsmen, from Glynda Goodwitch to Qrow Branwen.

“How did you meet him?” my mother’s voice derails my train of thought.

“Well, remember when I mentioned that Ruby and Yang’s uncle helped some kids in Kuroyuri?”

She nods.

“Their uncle has known Ozpin for a long while, and when we were looking for trustworthy sources in Vale, we ended up meeting him,” I shrug. “He was nice, I suppose, but it almost felt like he knew more about us than we thought. I guess now I know why.”

She smiles, but doesn’t comment on it. Rather, she seems focused on something else. “Ruby and Yang had never met him before?”

“No, their uncle seems very secretive. Yang—” I clear my throat, instantly regretting even thinking about the night in the woods, right after I had a fight with Weiss. Yang looked at me like there was nothing else in the world that mattered, and I can’t bring myself to tell my mom about Yang’s uncle or her biological mother.

Sun was right, I did find myself in between the most interesting humans I could find in all of Sanus.

“Ruby and Yang rarely saw him,” I shrug. “But by the way Ruby spoke about her uncle, it seemed like he was one of the best huntsmen in Vale. It’s no surprise he knows Ozpin.”

My mother smiles, tenderly, like the hiccup did not mean anything, even though we both know it did. “Did she become a huntsman because of him?” She asks.

“Maybe… Well, both of her parents were huntsmen, so it seemed like the right career path for her.” I chuckle. “She made us play cards since she believed it was the best way to know each other.”

_ I was forced to tell half truths. I lied. I lied about why I left, mom. I lied about what had happened the last time I was here. I had the audacity to lie to their faces when they were laying their souls bare to me. _

“What game, strip poker?”

“Mom!” I gasp, and she laughs at me, patting my knee just a little.

“I’m joking. What game did you play?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping an eye on her while her smile grows wider. “Go Fish. Ruby had us tell truths about ourselves every time we lost. It was then that Weiss came out.” I groan, remembering how Sun spilled that information like he had the rights to a drama novel.

“Wait, you said that she was dating the Hero of Vale… did that happen—?”

“No, it was after the attack. Although by the way they acted around each other, you could tell,” I smile, looking away and finding my reflection in the mirror. “During that same game, Ruby told us she wanted to include me in the team name, and…”

“That’s where you became team RWBY,” She finishes sweetly, like she just told the end of a bedtime story.

I could compare it to a bedtime story: it was short and sweet, and it made me happy. I truly was joyful during those days, more than I had ever been in years. Just as when I was a kid, that happiness was tainted, the asphyxiating reality creeping in every once in a while. Months ago, while I was traveling with Ruby, Weiss, and Yang, I had to find a way to be one step ahead of them. On one side, I pretended to grow closer to them, and on the other hand, I had to cover my tracks and work on an escape plan.

During that game of Go Fish, Yang knew my parents would open their arms back to me. She just knew it, and I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me that day, or the night before, in the forest, or the day she woke up after Ruby had saved Vale, right before kissing me.

“Blake?”

I blink, the streets of Vacuo materializing before me as the cheap curtains my mom bought at a flea market caress my skin. I draw the curtains, shutting them off completely, even though the sun can still stroke my cheeks with its warmth, regardless of what I put in between us.

“Are you finding that tome of Vacuan law interesting?” Dad smiles kindly, as he gestures to me with his chin.

I stare down at my lap, following his gesture, and find an old book resting between my legs. I hear the clicking sound of the door closing behind my dad, and my eyes leave the faded ink and the endless sentences to focus on him again.

“I’m not saying law can’t be jaw dropping, but I hardly expected for you to find this type of read captivating,” he smiles, crossing his arms over his chest as he glances at the big bookcase behind his desk. The shelves cover a whole wall and part of the other two, making the desk seem trapped inside a fortress of knowledge.

“I hardly thought this poor excuse for a kingdom could have any laws,” I chuckle, flipping to a previous page, unsure of the last word I read. “We’re talking about a group of people who found an oasis, a paradise hidden in the middle of nowhere, and exploited it until there was nothing left of it.”

“Blake…” he begins, saying my name with a sigh. “There might be some truth to that, but after the war, after realizing what they had done, the people of Vacuo noticed there was more to this place and the community than just taking.

“Everyone who can survive the harshness of the desert deserves to live here, remember?” he says the kingdom’s unofficial rule like a mantra. “People here in the slums have created a community after years of us talking to them.”

I stare at the words in the book, the terms are over complicated for no reason, and the paragraph construction is so poor, any good lawyer could poke holes through this like nobody's business. The people in Atlas would have a feast.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” Dad walks over, his eyes neatly falling on me. “I’m not saying you have to help your mother and me with all of this. I’m sure Sun is always in need of an extra pair of hands to help with his missions or with the kids at the mines.”

I laugh. “How can you say that?”

My father stares at me in confusion. “How can I say what?”

“How can you offer me a place by your side after what I did?” I say, my fists clenching over the old yellowed pages.

“Blake….”

“You were right. You were right all those years ago, and I shouted at you,” I look up to him, tears in my eyes. “I called you and Mom cowards, I— I used the most despicable words to describe you and—”

I feel the couch dipping before I realize he’s sitting beside me. I draw in a sharp breath, closing the big tome and shifting on the couch with one swift motion. The book feels heavy on my knees, but like a piece of paper in my hands as I clench my fists around its width.

“How?” I demand. “How can you still love me after what I did?” 

Dad takes a deep breath, and I feel his eyes leave my figure for a moment. He stares at the door and finally exhales. “Blake,” he whispers my name like the revelation was nothing but the most obvious thing in the world: “Your mother and I will always love you.”

I stifle a sob, tears falling on the old leather tome. The dirty surface clings on to my tears like it had been eager to feel anything for years. “I shouted and yelled at you—”

He puts an arm around me, his hand running up my arm as he pulls me close. “It’s okay,” he lies.

I try to shove him away, but I can’t. He’s not Sun, he is not afraid of me running away. There’s no window open behind me, and even if I could run through the door and leave for that god forsaken watch tower, he knows I won’t.

“I should’ve never joined the White Fang. I should’ve— I should’ve listened to you and Mom.” I choke on a sob, letting myself finally fall into pieces. I rock myself forwards and backwards, feeling my dad pull me close. “I’m sorry. I’m so,  _ so _ sorry.”

He hugs me, and shushes me with the same amount of love and patience he and Mom used to have every time I had a nightmare as a kid; like everything I went through, everything I’ve caused was nothing but a bad dream forgotten in the darkest place of my bedroom.

“Blake, it’s okay,” he says, with the sweetness and confidence of a younger man turning the lights on and kneeling beside his daughter’s bed in the middle of the night to calm her down after she had a nightmare. “We never held anything against you.”

He puts some distance between us, and forces me to turn and look at him. He cleans the wet trails on my cheeks. His eyes, bright and endless lock with mine with unquestionable certainty. “The only thing I ever feared was that you would fall down the wrong path and never come back, but I’m so proud to see you haven’t—”

“But I did,” I insist, sniffing as I refuse to look away. “I failed. I killed people, Dad. People are dead because of me—!”

He places both hands on my shoulders. “And you pulled yourself out. You came back. There aren’t many who possess that kind of strength— Blake.” He calls me when he sees my eyes drift away. “Blake, even fewer people have the courage to face their demons, and you did, in Vale. You betrayed the White Fang and that’s why they didn’t get to take down that kingdom.

“Vale didn’t fall,” he insists. “You want to carry the weight of the attack on your shoulders like you were the only member of the White Fang responsible, but you weren’t.  _ You  _ were the one who messed up their plan, and because of  _ you _ Vale didn’t fall.”

“I didn’t do it alone.” I shake my head, unable to recollect my thoughts as the tears run down my cheeks like rivers.

“No, you didn’t,” he says, cleaning my face again, and letting me breathe, moving away to give me more space, while not moving his hands away from me. “You didn’t. Which is why I wanted to ask you… Why did you leave Vale?”

He stares at me, and notices how I hold in my breath. We both know the words before he finally spills them to place the last card on the table.

“Why did you leave your friends behind?” He waits for me to answer, but when he notices that my lips are sealed shut, he moves closer. “Blake, are you afraid they will never forgive you?

“Or are you afraid they will?”

I don’t know how much time passes, all I know is that the last question shatters everything around me. I cry my heart out and he doesn’t leave my side. He rubs my shoulders and then takes the book out of my hands, my knuckles white even after I let go of the tome. He then pulls me close, and rubs my back as I lean against him, letting all the grief I’ve felt for the past months out after it had been eating me from the inside out. His beard tickles my forehead and ears.

“I fucked up. I fucked up, Dad,” I admit, my voice tired and strained after all that crying. “I should’ve come clean before we left for Vale. I should’ve told them, and Ozpin, and Glynda all about the White Fang’s plan. I should’ve handed the whole operation to them on a silver platter and that way—

“That way people wouldn’t have died.” I think about Port, and how I convinced Yang not to follow his orders. I think about Amber and how I couldn’t save her, but I actually could’ve saved her. I could’ve saved her from the start. “I kept quiet and led Yang into the mines to pretend we had stumbled into their operation by sheer luck. Yang was supposed to leave and tell Ozpin and the others, while I was going to hand myself in to Torchwick and buy them time.”

I laugh without humor, “I… I should’ve come clean right when I met Yang.”

I swallow hard, the headache coming back as the guilt takes over my chest like a kidnapper holding my heart hostage. I move away from my dad, and I feel him shift on the couch. He faces me and I face him.

“Yang…Yang came to look for me when—” I laugh again, like a fucking idiot. “I thought I could get rid of the members chasing me, that I could threaten them, and get them to lie for me, or fake my own death, but I should’ve known Adam…”

“Adam,” my father repeats. His eyes turn a shade darker, and I see his jaw tensing.

“I— I didn’t tell anyone anything and thought I could deal with them myself. Yang got worried and came looking for me,” I say. My eyes may be on him, but I can only see Yang’s face while she lies in that warehouse in a pool of her own blood. “She stopped Adam from executing me and lost her arm in the process. Dad, she lost  _ her _ arm—  _ she _ lost a part of her, and I escaped unscathed.”

I break down again, no tears left for me to cry, but I wheeze and choke as if I had any left. “I made it out alive, and she got hurt because of my lies.

“You asked me why I left them— why I left my friends behind.” My breath comes sharply before I continue: “I can’t go back to them, no matter how much I want to, no matter how much I miss them— how much I miss being part of their team, because they got hurt and they’ll never forgive me.”

It feels foreign to even hear those words out loud, to finally let them go after having them trapped in my throat for so long. I’ve spent years learning how to lie and hide, building walls like an expert and not letting anything seep through without exhaustive analysis and planning. Every risk, every move, was entirely calculated. I was so cold, even Ilia started looking at me differently at some point. She joined one year after I did and for the longest time she looked at me with awe, but by the end, she looked at me like I had become a complete stranger.

I still can’t recall what she whispered against my hair that night and, for some reason, that’s just another thing that kills me. That moment keeps coming back every time I go to sleep, every time I see Yang’s blood, and her lavender eyes finding a stranger before her, just like Ilia looked at me the last time she put her mask on before me.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Dad asks, like oceans had found their calmness after days of storms and calamities, like it was the simplest question to ask.

I blink, my eyes scanning his for some sort of answer, for him to laugh and confess that it was a joke, to finally put an end to all of this and to turn me in to the authorities.

“What am I supposed to do? Help you and Mom like nothing happened, like the hypocrite I am?” I laugh bitterly.

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Blake,” he replies. “If their heart is in the right place and they want to change, everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Did you not hear all the things I’ve done?”

He takes a deep breath as he leaves the couch, walking over to his desk. He observes his large collection of books, many of which I haven’t seen before I came back to Vacuo. Most of the volumes seem old, handed down from generation to generation, lost to time. He gestures to the shelves with his hand, “Most of these books were given to me by humans, by the same neighbours who once wished we had never moved in.”

He turns to look at me, and points at the book on the coffee table in front of me. “That book right there, the one you were reading, it was also a gift from a human. Remember the people you saw in my office the day you called me and your mother traitors?”

I shrink, and look away, ashamed of my words and wishing I had never raised my voice in the first place.

“People like them were incredibly racist, yes. They told us to ‘go die’ and to ‘keep our rabies to ourselves,’ that we ‘should be locked in Atlesian zoos,’” he sighs. The words are painful, even without the hatred tainting his voice as he utters them. “People like them changed. They gave your mother and me the tools to protect other faunus, they helped our brothers down at the mines the same way the faunus helped them during cave in after cave in; they saw us as people, and now wish to unionize with us, to help us, and to protect us like they would protect any of their kind.

“You thought they didn’t deserve a chance to live and if we had heard the White Fang back then, we wouldn’t have built the community we have now. Sun wouldn’t have befriended a group of huntresses and he wouldn’t have been trained,” he explains. “We wouldn’t have classrooms, many of our neighbors would still be unable to read; we wouldn’t have been able to stand up to the owners of the mines, or to protect each other from thieves and gangs.”

He sits down by my side again. “Change lies in the choices we make.

“Sweetheart,” he calls me, softly, like when he found me staring through the window lost in thought. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“I don’t think I deserve it,” I confess, avoiding his gaze while I repeat the same words I told Sun weeks ago. “I don’t deserve that kind of kindness. I can’t go back to Ruby, Weiss, or Yang. I can’t stand by your and Mom’s side while you fix human-faunus relations here. Not after all the pain I’ve caused.”

“Maybe you don’t,” my dad shrugs, and I look at him, somewhat surprised at this. By the look he gives me, I can tell he was expecting that. “Sun, your mother, and I could’ve turned you in and then what? A family member of a person you hurt could happen to work inside the prison and take revenge; a member of the White Fang can infiltrate the place they keep you in and kill you; or, you could be executed the day after we hand you over.

“Your death would change nothing. I believe you do deserve a second chance and, who knows, maybe the answer lies somewhere between your words.”

I snort, “What? Do you mean I should help faunus with debates, acts of charity, and peaceful talks? Or am I supposed to face the White Fang again and try to stop them?” I sigh. “I can’t bring back those I’ve killed.”

“No, you can’t,” Dad concedes. “But you can prevent more lives from being lost in this long and silent war humans and faunus have been battling for centuries. You can make sure that people like the Valen couple you mentioned —Velvet and Coco, was it?— have a chance to be happy; or that humans reconsider and find their ways like Weiss.

“It’s simple to punish and condemn; it’s hard to forgive and rehabilitate. The path we chose is not an easy one, and for many, it may not be the right answer to all their suffering, but it is the path where people can find happiness without harming one another and by getting to know each other,” he smiles. “We are putting our foot down, but not being violent doesn’t mean we tolerate violence. We stand up and protect each other. It’s not by fighting humans that we will win; it’s by standing together that everyone wins.”

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face and tucks it neatly behind my ear, even if at this point I’m nothing but a disheveled mess. He places a hand on my shoulder and stares at me with the brightest and softest smile that has ever graced his lips.

“You want to stand by Ruby, Weiss,  _ and _ Yang again,” he says, perfectly confident of his statement. “Then, go through penance and atone for your past mistakes. Doing good will not mean you deserve their forgiveness, but even if they reject you, you will be at peace with yourself because you’ll know you’ve gotten better.”

_ “I don’t know what you said to your parents, but I’m sure they will forgive you.”  _ Yang had told me that day, before everything went sideways and Vale turned into hell.

_ “If your parents are anything like you… then things will be okay.” _

Yang had no idea of who I was, and even then… Even then she was right.

  
  



	6. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path to healing is a long and arduous one, but we’ll get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to https://neurovascular-entrapta.tumblr.com.
> 
> Happy New Years, fellers!

The sunlight caresses the dunes with utmost care and, for a moment, the unforgiving desert turns into an ocean of gold. The sand glistens like a treasure scattered for miles and miles to no end, secrets are waiting to be discovered by some lucky fool lost in thought.

The horizon wavers as the sun rises, giving in and losing its shape, enticing travelers into thinking the end is near. I wonder if that’s how the original settlers felt and how many times they were tempted before they were able to find the oasis my Dad’s books talk about so much. The beauty described in those yellowed pages was lost to time. The diamonds disappeared, only to leave the dry mines behind.

I can see the hives: the mountains lay bare with agonizing holes tearing through their insides. Lancers await in the shadows, waiting for prey; red eyes shimmer in the darkness watching the city. I watch them back, my feet dangling as I sit by the unfinished watch tower —a vain attempt by humanity to pretend that they cared about safety, but both the Lancers and I know it’s not true. They wait, and I sigh in disbelief wondering what could’ve been.

The wood creaks, and I feel how the metallic structure cries in fear while someone swings carelessly to the top.

“You’re leaving, huh?” Sun asks, his tail swooping the rusty metal.

He takes my bag, previously lying next to me, and moves it behind him to rest against the unfinished adobe wall. I wait for him to sit by my side, feet dangling next to mine as he leans back and watches the sunrise with me.

“You say that like I’ve been here for a couple of days,” I remark, my fingers picking the splinters at the edge of the wood between my thighs. I turn to him, “Weren’t you the one who’s been helping me train for the last couple of weeks?”

“It’s been so long, I’m used to missing you.” He shrugs with a smile. His eyes don’t leave the horizon as he surrenders to the view. “So, what is this? Your one-woman rampage against the White Fang?”

I cock a brow at him, “What?”

“You’ve always fought for what you thought was right, but now you’ve realized the White Fang is wrong,” he replies. “After what happened in Vale, maybe you think The Fang is your fight; you saw them for who they are, and they hurt  _ your _ friends.”

“Ah…” I turn to look at the hives again, the warehouse flashes through my mind. I feel Ilia’s breath against my neck while I watch the lavender drain from Yang’s eyes. The sun takes over the morning sky, taking the subtle purple hues and replacing them with bleeding orange.

“You fought alongside them, now you fight against them,” he says. “How does it feel to have played for both sides?”

I chuckle and turn to him again, his eyes finding mine with ease. “Of course  _ you _ ’d be talking about ‘playing for both sides’.”

He giggles, rocking himself backward, crossing his legs, and placing his hands on his ankles for balance. His tail curls in delight, and for a moment, I feel like we’re twelve again. He grins, shooting me a complicit glance, like we were about to steal money from one of the mine’s overseers.

“Bi jokes, huh, Belladonna? I thought you didn’t like them.” His brows are high on his forehead, his face tilted to the side as he attempts to read my expression like a kid.

“It took me a while to realize it,” I shrug, turning to watch the sunrise again. The words are out before I know it: “You’d like Yang.” 

“Oh, I already do,” he quickly replies, his tail curling between us. “She helped bring my friend back,  _ and  _ you’re in love with her.”

“I...” The words fade before I’m able to negate Sun’s statement. I see Yang hugging Ruby before settling camp, the bald old truck driver confused at her aggressiveness and excitement after getting out of his vehicle.

“Who’d have guessed, Blake Belladonna falling for a human, out of all people,” he states, leaning back against his palms, letting a comfortable silence fall between us. It’s almost like he had invoked her on purpose, and I feel a warmth that the sun cannot provide.

_ I didn’t want it to be love. _

It was too sudden: a couple of weeks —days—, far less time than I spent in the White Fang. Nothing compared to how long I felt Adam’s eyes on me, and yet, somehow, it felt natural, like it was meant to happen since the day I was born. It was scary. I thought about running away, hiding, pretending I had never laid eyes on her, but I was on a mission. At least, that’s what I told myself in the beginning. Back when she almost shot me, when I purposefully angled Gambol Shroud the wrong way to deceive her, pretending that I was clumsy and less of a threat. I knew there was something more about her.

The truth is, the thought of not hearing her voice, of not tracing the patterns of her freckles on her cheeks, of not chuckling at the way she teased Weiss every day was too much. I convinced myself that I had a duty, and when everything crumbled and I realized my heart lied on the wrong side, I still told myself it wasn’t love.

Truth prevails in the end and when I realized it, I panicked. I was by her side as she laid unconscious on a hospital bed, and when she woke up, she was lost, afraid, and naive to everything I had done, I didn’t want to let go of her hand.

In the end, I did.

“So, what are you going to do?” Sun asks. The question feels weightless after he lets go of the words and watches them fly away.

“I’m going to find Yang.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he says, carelessly, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

I shake my head, “Sun, I’ve no idea if she’s going to accept my apology, let alone agree to travel with me again.”

“I trust her,” he says with certainty.

I take a deep breath, not trusting my voice to remain unbroken if I just replied to him. “If she doesn’t, I’ll find Ruby and Weiss, apologize to them, and then come back. In that scenario, you’ll have me back soon enough.”

“Why wouldn’t you stay with them?” He leans forward, and I feel his eyes on me.

“Because I can’t stay when Yang doesn’t want me there,” I respond, turning to him. “I can’t do that to her.”

He groans and leans back against his palms, deflating completely, unhappy with that very real possibility, one that I dread. I watch him closely: the way his jaw tenses and his brows furrow with indignation. I trace the slope of his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips. I see my best friend with an expression he wore as a child, but with the understanding of a man. His eyes betray him for a moment: that childish ideal of justice remains, but he’s aware of its inexistence.

He never gave up though. I can see the bright red protective gear he wears on his forearms, the amazing design he came up with for his weapon, and how much passion he has when he trains. Just because he saw justice fade didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight for it; he is a huntsman.

“You’d like all of them,” I say as I stand up. I grab my backpack, its fabric black and full of grey fish placed in a pattern. I trace the Belladonna emblem my mom sewed on the side and the purple string that reminds me of Yang’s eyes.

I put the backpack on, and stare into the horizon again. The sky is blue, pure, with no other colors fighting as the sun rises. “Ruby, Weiss,  _ and _ Yang.”

He smiles, knowing it’s time to say goodbye.

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

I look at him and lend him a hand. He’s surprised by my gesture, and even more so when I pull him up for a hug. I press my forehead against one of his shoulders and let his warmth take over just like the first day I came back, but this time, he takes a moment before he wraps his arms around me.

We don’t say goodbye; We just stand there for a couple of minutes before he lets go again. He watches me as I jump down and head in the direction to the nearest port. 

I stare into the horizon again, but no longer looking for the sun. My thoughts wander to what lies on the other side of the sea. I picture an island: Patch and its small Valen town, its woods, and a cabin lost between the trees. The scenery in my head looks lively. It strangely feels like home, despite my never setting a foot on the lost piece of land separated from Sanus.

I wonder what Yang is doing, unable to imagine her without Ruby and Weiss. I wish I could picture her dad, or the uncle she and her sister spoke about so much. Though I could try and imagine the immense amount of pain clouding her thoughts, I don’t. I can only see her smiling, surrounded by those who love her because that’s the only way I can picture her. No matter how she described those years in the Branwen tribe, it seems impossible for her not to attract good people.

My thoughts drift to my own family, and those days I spent back home. I look down at the black sleeveless crop top my mom mended for me. The diamond cutouts are perfectly measured to complement my neckline. There’s the old black pants, and the white belt she gave to me as well. The heeled thigh-high black boots, on the other hand, were bought at a market. Mom traced the gold-colored edges with a sigh, wishing to be younger when I picked them. She sewed the Belladonna emblem on the outer side of the thigh in white, and I didn’t stop her.

As I take a long breath, my fingers trace the strap going over my chest, which connects with a magnetic clip to Gambol Shroud on my back. My weapon remains hidden under the grey cloak I got from dad, just like the white pouches attached to my belt with bullets.

I pull my hood up, hiding my ears and part of my face. My eyes set on the port, and for a moment I’m reminded of another pair of eyes. They aren’t lavender —deep and kind—, they are blood red —cruel and unforgiving.

Alden started at me with so much hatred when I left the hospital, covered in his owner's blood and full of shame.

I swear his gaze felt too human.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to https://queen-entrapta.tumblr.com and DragoLord19D for beta reading.


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